


Slow and Steady

by Pentamatr



Series: Thunder on the Mountain [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:49:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 48,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pentamatr/pseuds/Pentamatr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the point of view of Kili, Thorin, and Bilbo in the aftermath of the Battle of Five Armies. Kili struggles with his role as regent when he is the first to wake, even when an unconscious Fili is truly his biggest concern, while Thorin struggles with his own inner demons once he is able to take the throne. Finally Bilbo is living alone in the Shire once again, mourning lost love and friendship, wondering if he can ever truly go on when his heart was left behind in a place far over the Misty Mountains.</p><p>-Set after "No Quarter" after the Battle of Five Armies and Bilbo's return to the Shire. First chapter is set in Kili's point of view, the second in Thorin's, and then finally back to Bilbo-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kili

**Author's Note:**

> My dear old friend, take me for a spin  
> Two wolves in the dark, running in the wind  
> I'm letting go, but I've never felt better  
> Passing by all the monsters in my head
> 
> (See end notes for discussion of Minor Character Death)
> 
> Many thanks and love to my beta/sanity: cakelydemise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili is the first Durin to wake after the Battle of Five Armies and so the first to take to the throne. With the help of Balin he is able to start rebuilding Erebor, balancing responsibilities with some of his own plans to keep the poison of the gold sickness at bay. His true duty, however, is to the one who lies much too still in the kingdom’s infirmary, and when the arrival of his mother brings about the painful revelation about her waning health his courage is truly tested. A young prince can only take so much of his family crumbling around him before it starts to take its toll.

There was an uncomfortable knot of anxiety in Kíli’s stomach as he looked at all of the gold scattered around the treasure room. If he listened close enough he could hear words spoken in Khuzdul, whispers that floated throughout the room tempting and beckoning him closer to reach out and run his hands through the coins. He was curious, for he didn’t recall hearing such words before, but now they must have known. They knew he was the one with the power, that he was prince regent, and they were doing everything they could to stop him from putting his plan into action.

_-Earlier-_

_“Lord Bard formerly of Lake-town, Your Highness.”_

_Kíli hadn’t responded at first, still not used to his title, but when Bard stopped in front of him it was then that he looked up._

_“Oh, uhm, right,” he said, wincing as the man raised an eyebrow._

_Bard had been pleasant enough at first, perhaps kinder than Kíli thought he would be considering everything that happened. If Thorin was the one on the throne it would have been a different story, but as it was the man wasted no time in his negotiations. He still wanted gold, especially since his men were without a proper home. They had driven out the Master when they finally realized how much he took for himself, no longer allowing him to leave them cold and starving while he lounged in what little luxury he could scavenge from the ruins of Lake-town. Kíli counted himself lucky that he didn’t have to deal with such a vile man on top of everything else. That was something to be grateful for at least. He always did like Bard even when Thorin didn’t trust him, and now they could have a diplomatic relationship that would aid in the rebuilding of both Erebor and Dale. There was still something tugging at the back of his mind as he made the agreements with Bard, though, something he felt from the very beginning when Balin told him he was responsible for the kingdom. At first he thought it was unease about being the one to make such important decisions, but it took some time to realize he felt guilty for giving away Erebor’s gold. It wasn’t his first warning that something was wrong, but it was enough to make him do something about it._

_-_

“Is this what you did to my uncle?” he wondered, walking slowly back to the entrance. The guards eyed him warily but remained quiet. “Or maybe he was too far gone to hear voices. At least I came as a surprise, didn’t I? No one expected me to take the throne so soon.”

“Your Highness, are you well?”

He was trembling, the fever he woke up with that morning making his muscles weak. No doubt he looked awful as well, but he pushed himself through it.

“I am,” he managed to smile weakly. He didn’t spare the room another glance as he walked out, leaving it and the guards behind. Hopefully for good this time.

He took his decision seriously. Even if he was wary at first and frightened of opposition to the idea, now that his fears were confirmed he knew he had to do it for the safety of Erebor. He refused to lose control of his own mind and he wanted to do everything he could to make sure that when Thorin eventually woke there would be less of a chance for the sickness to take hold of him again.

The gold he could manage, and time along with a lot of persuasion would let him do so yet there was still one other matter that he was anxious to take care of.

-

_“Do you still have the Arkenstone?”_

_Kíli managed to catch Bard alone before he left that day, making sure no one else was around to hear their exchange._

_“Handing it over wasn’t in our agreement,” the man said steadily. “I made that offer to Thorin out of desperation, but I did not think you would want it after what it did to him.”_

_“You’re right,” Kíli nodded, “but if you help me destroy it then I will double the gold I promised you.”_

_The look on Bard’s face would have been comical if the situation had not been so grim. Merely saying the words made Kíli nauseous, but at this point he was desperate. How else would they be rid of the wretched curse it brought upon them?_

_“Forgive me, but I do not think it wise.” Kíli was stopped short of protesting when Bard raised his hands. “I do not want it in Dale either, trust me, but it is the heart of this very mountain. I know little of magic, yet is it not logical to think that once a heart is taken away from something it will not last for very long?”_

_Kíli didn’t expect Bard’s words to hit him in such a way, immediately thinking of his own heart and the one it belonged to._

_“It’s too dangerous, though,” he murmured. “You’ve seen what it’s done.”_

_“Only when it has the wrong master.” Bard shook his head. “You know that Erebor’s time of trouble came only when the stone was taken from the mountain.”_

_“It remained in the mountain-”_

_“Yes, but not in its rightful place.”_

_Kíli frowned, starting to see what Bard was on about but wary as to how he came to such a conclusion._

_“I grew up on tales as well,” the man went on, “but not ones that glorified the actions of your forefathers. Is it not obvious?"_

_"If you knew this then why didn't you tell me?"_

_"I've had quite a lot to deal with," Bard murmured, "and truthfully the stone is not easy to give away."_

_"I certainly wouldn't mind being rid of it," Kíli snorted._

_"It is different when it's in your possession. If I give it to you then you must know what you want to do with it before it can sway you."_

_Kíli sighed, crossing his arms and trying his best to stay patient._

_"All right, well, do you have any great ideas?"_

_"As a matter of fact," Bard said, "I do."_

_-_

Kíli wasn’t entirely convinced Bard’s plan would work. He _could_ force the man to hand it over so he could do with it as he pleased, no doubt putting them back to where they started and forever strain if not ruin the relationship between Dale and Erebor, but he wouldn’t do that. Bard was convinced something dreadful would happen if the Arkenstone were to be destroyed and it was enough to make Kíli listen. That didn’t mean he liked it, but it was just something he would have to compromise on.

And so Bard promised to hand it over when he came back to collect the gold, giving Kíli time to make the proper arrangements. After discussing the matter with the man they came to the somewhat obvious conclusion of where it should be placed, and so Kíli enlisted the help of one of the few dwarves he felt would support his decision.

“There you are, Your Highness.”

“Balin,” Kíli smiled, falling in step with the older dwarf. It was only natural for Balin to take on the role of Kíli’s advisor, not that the prince had much say in it, but he was indispensable for both matters of the crown and personal ones. Above all he was someone Kíli could call a friend, and that was something he truly needed at that time. “How is the search coming along?”

“Slowly,” Balin sighed, glancing around instinctively. “When we have only a handful of dwarves we can trust looking throughout the entirety of the mountain for the one small place the Arkenstone would fit in...well, let’s just say it will take some time yet.”

“Are there no maps of the kingdom?”

“Aye, only a few left, but no one thought to mark it. And why would they?” Balin shrugged. “It was always meant to stay above the throne.”

“We’re not doing that again-”

“I know,” he soothed, “I know. We will find it.”

Kíli sighed, hanging his head as they walked on. Truly time was not on their side and with every passing moment he could feel himself growing more impatient.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Balin said kindly. “You look a bit peaked, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“I didn’t sleep well,” he lied. In fact he slept _too_ well, out as soon as his head hit the pillow, so the fact that he felt as if he would fall over at any moment made him wonder if he really was well. He wouldn’t have it, though. There wasn’t any time for him to be sick, not when there were certain things he needed to take care of before Thorin woke-

“Steady now, laddie, deep breaths.”

“I...what?”

Balin’s arms were around him, gently propping him against the wall he nearly stumbled into when his legs apparently decided to give out. It had happened much too fast for his liking, barely even given a warning, but now a cold sweat broke out all over his body as if someone had dumped a bucket of water over his head.

“Do you need to sit?” Balin murmured.

“No, I...just need a moment.” It felt as though cotton had been stuffed in his ears and it wasn’t long before he realized he almost passed out. He took in a shaky breath, doing his best to smile despite his embarrassment. “Haven’t eaten much today either,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m fine, really I-”

“When was the last time you let Óin check on you?”

“Er, not too long ago, I think.”

“Because he is convinced you are avoiding him.”

“But I’m always in the infirmary!”

“Yes, you are, but it seems that every time _he_ is you are elsewhere. Which is something I find peculiar.” Balin narrowed his eyes, making Kíli squirm.

“Bad timing?”

“If you truly want to be better it will not do you well to ignore your poor health. It will only get worse. Trust me, lad,” he sighed. One look into his worried eyes and Kíli was reminded of how much he cared, feeling guilty for letting him down.

“I understand,” he nodded, “but it’s hard, I wish...I wish didn’t have to worry about myself with so much else going on.”

“Don’t we all, lad,” Balin squeezed his shoulder, “but you have to.”

“I will.” He leaned his head against the wall, taking in a deep breath before starting forward again. “Who am I meeting with?”

“Are you well enough to go on?”

“Of course. It must be important if you came to get me, right?”

“Well, you aren’t mistaken.”

“It’s not Thranduil again, is it?” Kíli shook his head, focusing on keeping one foot in front of the other and grateful for the arm Balin still had around him. “Now I know why Uncle finds him so infuriating. I understand he wants what is best for his kingdom, but can you believe what he said about Bard? I always thought those two were allies.”

“They are, but Bard isn’t too fond of him either. I think they had a falling out over the Arkenstone.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me.” Kíli thought for a moment, but soon shook his head. “At least they’re both on our side.”

“Aye, I would say that is all we need but I fear there is one other we need to establish a good relationship with. Hold on, laddie.” Balin put an arm out before Kíli could walk into the throne room. “Are you sure you are well enough to handle this?”

“I’m fine. Why, is it that bad?”

“Well,” Balin sighed, “it is Dain Ironfoot.”

“Dain?” Kíli gaped, “but...but why?”

“I do not know, it is quite informal. Normally he would be required to send word beforehand just as all of the others have, but it must be urgent for he is not one to break tradition.”

“Mahal,” he groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. He didn’t feel so well again, not that he fully recovered to begin with, but the news certainly did not help the dull throbbing in his head. “Promise me I’ll come out of this alive?”

Balin chuckled, patting him on the shoulder.

“He is not as bad as he seems. You will find out. We really must enter, now, before he comes upon an empty throne.”

“But Balin,” Kíli said quickly, looking around quickly before leaning in, “before we go in and I forget to tell you, there is something else I must ask you to help me with.”

“We will discuss it later, lad.”

“Promise me you’ll remember?”

“You have my word.”

“You won’t like it,” he smiled sadly.

“Most likely not,” Balin sighed, the twinkle in his eyes giving him away, “but I trust you.”

“That is all I can ask for.”

They walked in, then, Kíli taking his seat on the throne while Balin stood next to him.

“Dain Ironfoot, Your Highness,” one of the guards announced soon after.

Kíli leaned forward, trying not to slouch but keen on relieving some of aches that wracked his body. He reminded himself once again to breathe and finally forced himself to watch as his uncle’s cousin marched up to the throne. Dain was even more impressive up close, long grey beard in intricate braids to signify he was of the line of Durin while robes of the finest blue silk flowed down to the tips of his boots. He held himself with no small amount of dignity and although he was known to rule with a fair hand, he was clearly not one to cross or underestimate in any way. His eyes reminded Kíli of Thorin’s, a pair of steel blues that had seen more than the prince could ever imagine despite his own experiences. They regarded him with some warmth at first as the dwarf lord bowed low, though soon enough concern coupled with determination settled on his brow. Kíli tried not to squirm.

“You look well, Prince Kíli,” he spoke, his confident voice filling the hall. “We feared the worst considering the extent of your injuries.”

“They were not as bad as what others have suffered,” he answered. The sound of a throat being cleared off to his right made him remember himself. “I do thank you for your concern. How has your army fared?”

“We have an extraordinary amount of casualties, I am afraid.” His lips twitched down in a fleeting moment of sorrow before his expression returned to neutrality.

“I am sorry to hear that.” Kíli knew the dwarves from the Iron Hills would only help add to their numbers in Erebor, something they desperately needed, and truly he was disturbed by the death of so many.

“Aye, our wounded are also many in number. Some were able to make the journey home yet others still remain in the tents outside.”

“They aren’t inside yet?” Kíli frowned. “Surely we have the room.”

“Begging your pardon, Your Highness,” Dain smiled, “but someone needs to make that order. I was ready to take the throne just as you woke and so we have been waiting for your word on the matter. I daresay you will want to look into accommodations as well before moving in the wounded. We would not want them lying in drafty halls now would we?”

It was all the prince could do to stay sitting up straight and not sink back down into the throne out of embarrassment. A blush crossed his cheeks nonetheless.

“Of course not,” he breathed, clearing his throat. “I will...Balin, can you have someone-”

“I will look into it myself, Your Highness,” the white-haired dwarf said. “How many should we expect to assist?”

“I was told two hundred and sixteen the last I inquired.”

“Two hundred and…” Kíli whispered before catching himself. “Right, well, even if we do not have the room in the infirmaries I will personally make sure beds will be provided in safe, comfortable places. We will focus our efforts on repairing the bed chambers if we must.”

“You have our gratitude. Now, we also suffered a great economic loss. It is something that is all too common in war, which I am sure you are aware of. We will need to train new warriors since our casualties are so many, we must replace the armor and weapons that have been damaged or lost, and not to mention the families left behind along with the cost of funeral arrangements-”

“We will have a ceremony for the fallen,” Kíli was quick to reassure him. “It is the least we can do along with financial compensation.”

“A ceremony is very noble of you and the ones who remain will be glad for it, but most if not all of our dead expressed great desire to be buried in their homeland.”

“Oh.” Kíli faltered, trying to imagine what it would take to carry that many bodies back to the Iron Hills before the very thought made him queasy. “That’s a lot of horses…”

“And carts,” Dain smiled again, only adding to the prince’s discomfort. “Anything you can provide will do.”

“But our resources are limited as it is.” He tried wracking his brain with any idea of how to go about doing such a thing, but instead he blurted out, “We will do what we can.” A gentle hand on his arm made him look over at Balin after that. The stare his advisor was affording Dain was very stern indeed. Kíli knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of such a look and he fought the urge to shiver.

“By the prince’s approval we will meet with you at a later date to discuss the details of our agreement. We must first confer with our coffers to see where we stand before lending any monetary aid.”

Feeling an odd mixture of relief, embarrassment, and weariness all at once Kíli looked between Balin and Dain before realizing it was his turn to speak.

“Uhm...yes, that is best, I think. We need to know how much we have before giving it away.” He chuckled, a strange high pitched noise that gave away his nerves, although he did not find anything particularly funny. Neither had Dain, apparently, for his frown was most disconcerting.

“My dealings were with Thorin at the time we came to the battle. I would not expect anyone, let alone a young prince, to understand our agreement, but I assure you that he offered complete recompense for any damage and any dwarf that we lost.”

“And we do not doubt that,” Balin reassured at the same time Kíli blurted,

“He did?”

Needless to say the looks his outburst earned him were quite disapproving.

“Do you question my words?” Dain asked, eyes narrow.

“I only wonder,” the prince hastened on, “if Thorin could have meant what he said. It surprises me that given the mindset he was in at the time he would say such a thing let alone intend to keep his word.”

“And what mindset would this be?”

Now Kíli did squirm, wringing his hands from where they sat in his lap before placing them on the arms of the throne and gripping until his knuckles turned white. The stress and uncertainty of the conversation was enough to make his headache worse. He had to remember he still wasn’t fully healed and despite being adamant about taking the throne as regent it had the potential to be taken away from him should he prove ill suited. Already Dain was quick to regard him as nothing more than a princeling, clearly considering himself more worthy of the throne.

 _But he can’t have it,_ he thought, _not while its rightful heirs still breathe._

“Thorin had a minor setback upon entering the mountain,” Balin was explaining, shooting Kíli a look that said “keep quiet.”

“And what kind of setback would this be?”

“The journey was quite taxing on all of us, but after Smaug was defeated Thorin retreated in on himself. The betrayal of our burglar took a toll on him, for they had grown close up until that point.”

“Ah, he mentioned something to that extent in his message to me.” Dain scratched his beard and shook his head. “Why did he have such dealings with a halfling? Surely he knew better than to trust anyone other than his kin.”

“Bilbo _was_ trustworthy!” Kíli exclaimed. The very thought of what Dain said went against all he held dear about the hobbit, and a protective instinct was quick to set in. “He saved Thorin’s life and the lives of our company numerous times-”

“Kíli,” Balin warned.

“-and he only ever acted in Uncle’s best interest.”

“Your Highness, I must insist-”

“You owe him your respect.”

Kíli could hear the blood rushing in his ears, his heart pounding hard as he glared down at Dain. Perhaps he wasn’t meant to sit on the throne yet, but he would be damned if someone slandered Bilbo’s name while he ruled under the mountain. He was on his feet before he even knew what he was doing.

“You will receive your payment,” he went on, “but my uncle’s promises are not mine to keep. We will come to our own agreement, I assure you. If my word is not enough then that problem lies within yourself.” It was the thought of Bilbo that gave him enough courage to give his final say, but as he slumped back down and nursed his pounding head he wondered if his recklessness just damaged Erebor’s relationship with the dwarves of the Iron Hills.

Dain regarded him for a time, expression unreadable though his lips were in a slight frown, while Balin stood stock still beside him. At last the dwarf lord bowed with a trace of acknowledgement and, dare he even say it, respect before he looked back up.

“I will await your word on when we shall meet, Your Highness. I thank you for your time.”

With that, for as big as his presence had been in the room and for all the attention he garnered, Dain left without another word.

“What have I done?” Kíli wondered softly when all who remained were Balin, the guards, and himself.

“You, my lad,” Balin breathed, “just put Dain Ironfoot in his place.”

Swallowing hard, the prince shook his head and took to his feet again.

“I think I may be ill.”

“It is no wonder. I wish you would have listened to me.” Balin sighed and placed both of his hands on Kíli’s arms so he had no choice but to look at him. “I cannot always speak for you, though. I would not have chosen your words, but I know you spoke them from your heart and Dain, in his own way, saw that as well. It shows honor. I only ask that you tread more carefully.”

“I will,” Kíli nodded, wincing when his head protested.

“Go and rest for now.”

“But the court-”

“You have no other obligations until this evening.” Balin’s smile was kind. “I will know where to find you should anything arise.”

“Thank you,” Kíli said softly. “I’m sorry for being so rash, but Bilbo-”

“I know, my lad. Trust me, I know.”

He was quick to make his way down to the infirmary, crown and robes still on, but he didn’t care. He would waste no time in allowing anyone to assist him and he certainly didn’t feel like walking all the way to his chambers. The need to be alone was so great that he didn’t even want to entertain the thought of someone else distracting him.

When he reached the all too familiar room he was careful before he walked in, knowing the healers could be in at any time. He never wanted to interfere unless he had certain questions, but the room was empty at that time save for the still form sleeping on the cot. When Kíli reached him, his hand immediately went out to brush over his cheek and he let out a shaky breath.

“Hey, Fee,” he whispered.

Already he could see the healers had wrapped his head with a fresh dressing and a quick check showed that he had his early evening wash already. Fresh nightclothes were cool and crisp to the touch as were the linens on his bed. Of course the healers treated the prince well. They always did, especially with Óin overseeing both Fíli and Thorin, but Kíli’s mind was better for it when ensuring his brother was as clean and comfortable as possible.

“I think I almost gave Balin a heart attack,” he went on, chuckling to himself.

He took his usual seat at Fíli’s head, already picking up a comb and working the tangles out of his freshly washed hair. It was one of the tasks the healers always left for him do. From the start he didn’t even have to ask, rather Óin himself pressed the comb and beads into his hand with a smile before giving him some privacy. It was his ritual from that point on, to come into the room every night before the dinner bell and see that his brother’s golden mane was tended to.

And of course he would talk to him.

He talked to him anyway, perhaps even in his sleep since he insisted on sleeping in a cot beside him. Kíli only ever used his own chambers for dressing and what few items he still owned. His bow was there currently, along with the runestone his mother gave to him. Both had their special places, yet his place was always to be beside Fíli at least until he woke and was healed enough to walk. When that happened Kíli had every intention of preparing his own bed so that his brother could rest at last in something far more comfortable than a hospital cot.

“I’m sure you would have handled him much better. Well, at least until he started talking about Bilbo.” Kíli frowned, carefully working out a particularly stubborn knot. “You would have defended him too, but probably with more grace. I just made a fool out of myself.” He chuckled then, a dry sound that caused his sore throat to ache. “Again. I do that a lot. I know you would tell me I don’t but...well, for once I have the final say, don’t I?”

He wished Fíli would laugh, for his joke was in poor taste without it. Kíli knew he would have, though, and perhaps he was. Maybe Fíli just wasn’t able to express it. The thought gave him hope even if he had nothing to base it on. The healers didn’t seem to think Fíli could hear them, but unless his injury had deafened him then why wouldn’t there be a chance that he could?

“I don’t see why not,” he murmured. “You must be quite frustrated when they think you can’t hear them.” A thought occurred to him that made his chest tighten. He liked the healers- he was _indebted_ to them for taking such meticulous care of his brother and uncle- but he dreaded to think of some of the words that passed between them when taking care of his loved ones. “They shouldn’t doubt you,” he told Fíli. “I don’t know if they have, but they should never doubt that you are still with us or that you’ll wake up.” He placed a hand over his brother’s heart and leaned forward to softly kiss his lips. “You will, my _nadad,_ you are strong. Don’t listen to anything like that. Just get better, okay?”

Tears filled his eyes, but he stubbornly wiped them away. There was no need for sadness right now, not when Erebor needed him to be strong. Finishing up with Fíli’s hair, he sat stroking his cheek and murmuring nonsense to keep his mind from wandering to dark places. When it came time for the dinner bell to chime he whispered his usual assurances in Fíli’s ear that he would return soon, joking that he would do his best to look presentable now even though his own hair was probably a mess. When he imagined his brother’s laughter at that it managed to make him smile.

Dinner always passed rather quickly for as much as the dwarves ate. Kíli himself never had much, his constant nerves of being in the spotlight at the head of a table of lords and ladies always making him queasy, but he was resigned to the feeling now. He talked to them instead and if they ended up taking over the conversation (something that happened more often than not) then he was happier for it. It wasn’t as if he knew what they spoke of half the time, always consulting with Balin afterwards to fully understand their words, but better they talk than he make a fool of himself. At least most of the company members agreed to lordships when he presented them with the title. He was very much relieved when Balin approved of his choices in that regard. Of course there were some he had never even met before, but those who were familiar made him feel some semblance of security. They, at least, understood him.

The night was an uneventful one once dinner was through and the rest of his duties were complete. As he walked back down to the infirmary he was grateful none of his tasks had been as stressful as talking to Dain had been earlier that day. He would dare to say facing a dragon was more desirable. At least Smaug had been an adventure. Dain just added to his stress.

A gruff voice called out to him before he could turn the corner, making him halt his quick pace when he realized he recognized it. Normally he would have tensed at anyone interrupting the time he reserved for Fíli, but instead he turned with an air of curiosity and a small, rare smile on his lips.

“Mister Dwalin,” he said, trying to keep from protesting when his newly appointed captain of the guard bowed. He didn’t escape so easily from his own formalities, however.

“None of that ‘Mister’ talk, Your Highness.”

“I could say the same to you. In fact,” Kíli said with a twinkle in his eye, “I could very well demand it and you wouldn’t have a choice.”

“Mahal’s beard, it’s like I’m talking to yer uncle half the time.” The warrior sighed, finally smiling when he saw Kíli was doing the same. “Now that’s something we don’t see enough of anymore.”

“Well, like you said, I’m taking after Thorin now.”

“Eh, but I’d rather you didn’t. We can only handle one of him after all.”

A laugh was startled out of Kíli at this, and he shook his head at Dwalin’s smug look.

“Did you need me for something?”

“Aye.” Just as soon as the smile softened his features, Dwalin was back to a frown and a furrowed brow. The prince sighed and braced himself. “I noticed you’ve been walking around without a guard recently.”

“I, well, yes. Is that a problem?”

“It shouldn’t be,” Dwalin sighed, “but the more dwarves movin’ in, the more potential for some to get a few ideas of their own. Not everyone was happy when Dain couldn’t take the throne.”

“I figured that, but you think they’d try something?”

“I haven’t heard anything,” Dwalin shrugged, “and I have a few pairs of damn good ears that report back to me.”

Kíli was about to respond when a curious thought made him smile again.

“Is that why Nori declined my offer of lordship?”

“Could you really see him as one anyway?” the warrior chuckled. “But yeah, I reckon that’s why. He’s someone you want on the inside among the other troublemakers as long as he’s not causing it himself.”

“I suppose that’s why I haven’t seen him lately. Well, give him my thanks whenever he pops up.”

“Will do, Your Highness. Now,” Dwalin held up a hand before Kíli could speak, “back to yer guard.”

“Is it necessary?”

“Would help me sleep better at night. It’s not a chance any of us want to take, not when it’s yer safety at risk.”

“But I only ever go between the infirmary and the throne room,” he said quickly. “I don’t want someone following me around when their time could be spent doing better things.”

“Trust me, any guard inside this kingdom would be happy to have the job. They ain’t doing much anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

“You put me in charge of ‘em, didn’t you?”

Sighing, Kíli bowed his head and knew he didn’t have a valid argument. He wasn’t among the company anymore and he didn’t have his brother constantly by his side as back up. Now _he_ was the one others relied on. Dwalin did have a point. When he looked back up it was to witness a strange movement from the warrior, almost as if he had made to embrace the prince but remembered his place. It was enough to make Kíli walk forward instead to grasp Dwalin’s shoulder. Damn all of these formalities when he was as good as Kíli’s own kin.

“All right,” he said quietly, “but only when I’m on my own. Surely I’m safe enough with Balin beside me half the time anyway.”

Dwalin let out a huff of relief, considerably less tense as he brought his own hand up to Kíli’s shoulder and gently bumped their foreheads together.

“That’s a weight off my mind,” he grumbled. “I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you, lad.”

It went deeper than Dwalin’s official duty, Kíli knew. His friend cared for him very much. It coaxed something back to life inside of him, something that was lacking in some much needed affection. He didn’t realize how much he had missed it when things fell apart after the battle, but he was grateful for the touch of another dwarf who held true affection for him. When they parted, Dwalin walked him the rest of the way, promising that he already had someone in mind and that Kíli should expect to see her soon. With a quiet thank you and a good night, Kíli walked in to tend to his brother for the last time that night. When he finally curled up in his own cot, watching his brother for as long as he could, there was comfort in his heart for the first time in days.

That comfort lasted him into the night when he finally fell into an easy, yet light slumber. He had lost his ability to sleep deeply somewhere along the road to Erebor, perhaps in Mirkwood with all of those eyes watching the company, and he sorely missed waking up each morning fully refreshed. Still, it allowed him to stay alert to his surroundings and had he not turned into such a light sleeper he would have missed what happened later that night.

Kíli couldn’t say what it was that roused him, but his eyes were open and blinking rapidly in attempt to see clearly. At first he recalled his conversation with Dwalin, remembering talk of a guard being with him should anything arise. It frightened him for a moment when he realized he didn’t have one, but then they weren’t in any danger. There were always at least two guards in front of Fíli’s room at all times. Perhaps a healer had come in to check on Fíli? He looked over at his brother to check, but what he actually saw had him on his feet in seconds.

“Fíli,” he gasped, stumbling over to him and ignoring his spinning head. His brother’s fingers were twitching at his side and the muscles in his cheek were doing the same. His lips parted slightly to release a quiet noise Kíli would have missed had he not been listening intently. “Hey, _nadad,_ ” he whispered. He sat on the edge of the cot, very carefully picking up his hand and watching how it moved. “Can you hear me? It’s…” He let out a small laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s me, Fee, your brother. Kíli.”

Fíli didn’t respond, lips closing in a deep frown while he still made small, jerking movements. Kíli tried all that he could to rouse him, catch his attention, _anything_ to make him open his eyes to the point where a guard had stuck their head in to ask if everything was all right.

“He’s moving,” Kíli gasped, “he’s...get a healer!”

They were quick to obey, coming back with one of the females Kíli had seen often.

“You need to move, my prince.”

Kíli reluctantly obeyed, watching attentively as Gima inspected Fíli.

“When did he start?”

“Not too long ago. He woke me up. I...he’s been twitching a lot and he made a noise.”

“Of pain?”

“I don’t think so,” he frowned. “I mean, could he be?”

“It is likely.” She turned to him, expression unreadable. “His pain would be enough to rouse him, but his system would shut down if it was too unbearable.”

“So the pain isn’t too bad?”

“No, but we do not want it to keep him awake. Either he is to be fully conscious or as he was before. He needs a peaceful rest if he is to heal, not like this.”

“What can you do?” he asked quietly.

“I can give him more medicine for the pain. Keep him still,” she said, quickly leaving the room.

Pulling over his usual chair, Kíli let out a shaky sigh as he sat and did his best to calm his brother. Still he trembled, head jerking twice before Kíli reached out with both hands to still him.

“Ssh,” he whispered, “my _kurdu,_ it’s okay. You’re going to be just fine. She’s going to get you something to make you feel better, I promise.”

The joy he felt crumbled to uncertainty over whether or not Fíli was in pain. He certainly didn’t want that to be the truth, he just wanted him to wake. Fortunately Gima was quick to return, enlisting his help in holding Fíli’s mouth open so she could place the drops of liquid under his tongue.

“That should help,” she said, smoothing her hand over Fíli’s cheek. It took a while, but his movements eventually stilled and Gima was pleased enough to take her leave. “If he starts again, let me know. I will continue to give him more to see if it is pain. If not then he may be waking, but I would advise you against that hope before we truly know.”

Kíli nodded, trying to quell his excitement again. She was right, of course, it wouldn’t do him any good to get his hopes up, but he certainly _wanted_ to hope.

“Thank you,” he said instead, knowing she wouldn’t entertain the many ‘what if’ scenarios running through his mind. He watched her walk out before turning back to his brother with a sigh, resting his chin on the cot and reaching out to hold his limp hand. “I know you’re coming back,” he murmured. He didn’t wipe away the tear that slid down his cheek, instead letting it fall until it made a soft sound before it was absorbed by the fabric of the bedsheet. “You always come back to me.”  
  
  


\- - - - - - - - - -

 

It was hard, of course, sometimes almost impossible to stay positive when the days passed by without another repeat of what happened that night. Kíli wondered if he even imagined it at one point, but then he shook himself out of it and reminded himself that Gima had been his witness. It happened, truly, and it meant that Fíli was getting better. Perhaps slower than they all wished, for malnutrition would start to hinder his recovery soon, but now that he had done something other than just lie there the healers stopped looking at Kíli with pity whenever he spoke of Fíli waking again.

The biggest support he would ever have on the matter, however, arrived one day quite unexpectedly early, yet it was a day that also brought along an even bigger trial. Yes, even bigger than his brother remaining unconscious along with his uncle (who was at least starting to stir much more than Fíli had) and the fact that he feared Erebor falling back to ruin by his own gullible hand. It was something he could not have foreseen and as blasphemous as it was he would have _cursed_ Mahal himself had he known what was to come. When a gentle voice roused him from his sleep, though, he was allowed to remain oblivious. At least for a short time.

When he woke he glanced over at Fíli, slowly sitting up and frowning when he couldn't make sense of why his brother lay so still. He still had moments where he forgot, either due to his head still being affected from his injury or just wishful thinking, but soon he realized there was another presence in the room.

“Lad?"

Slowly Kíli blinked up at Balin, who stood over him with his lips pressed in a thin tense line.

“Mmf...did I oversleep?” He swung his legs out of the bed, holding his head as his vision swam, but when he made to stand a steady hand on his shoulder pressed him back down.

“No, but you will want to sit for this.”

“Why?”

He didn’t like the look on Balin’s face, knowing it took more than trouble in the kingdom to make him look like that. It was the same face he wore when he told Kíli his brother and uncle were unlikely to wake soon, that he would have to be the one to take the throne.

“The Lady Dís approaches with dwarves from Ered Luin.”

Kíli blinked. Well, he certainly wasn’t expecting to hear _that._ They weren’t even expecting his mother to return to Erebor for at least a few more days. The news did his heart well at first, his lips automatically stretching into a smile until he realized Balin still wore that strained expression.

“What?” he whispered, smile falling much too fast. “What can possibly be wrong now?”

“They have many among them who are ill.”

“Is it catching?”

“Aye, they are not certain, but they all have similar symptoms.”

“We’re not turning them away.” Kíli narrowed his eyes, not liking that could detect uncertainty in the dwarf’s eyes. “Balin. We are _not_ turning them away.”

“That is all I needed to hear,” Balin sighed, “but we cannot have them among our own. Whatever this illness is, Your Highness, I know you will not risk the health of Fíli and Thorin as well as our other wounded.”

“Of course not.” Kíli looked over at his brother, still and silent but for the slight rise and fall of his chest, before trying to stand again.

“Kíli-”

“It’s all right, we’ll just see how many there are and try to find someplace secluded to house them.”

“Lad.”

“Balin, we need to go.”

“You need to know that your mother is sick as well.”

The words struck Kíli like a hard blow to the chest, and indeed he _was_ thankful to be sitting at that moment, but he remained as calm as he could be.

“Well,” he said, swallowing hard, “I’ve never known her to be sick before. I’m sure she’s not letting it stand in her way.”

“The one who spoke to me said many who fell ill did not survive the journey,” Balin frowned, squeezing his shoulder.

“All the more reason to get them in and help them.” Kíli stood, then, shrugging off the elder’s hand. If anything was certain in that moment, despite the new fear that gripped his heart, he had to see his mother, but just as he was about to make for the door a shuddering breath from beside him made him pause.

“By my beard,” Balin gasped.

A thrill shot through Kíli as he quickly turned to kneel beside his brother instead. He watched as Fíli’s brow furrowed, tracing his slightly parted lips before leaning in to softly kiss them. “He’s coming back to us slowly. Fíli,” he whispered, “Mama is here. She’s come home to us. I’m going to make sure she’s nice and comfortable before coming to see you.”

“Your Highness-”

“We won’t be long, my _kurdu,_ I promise.”

“We don’t know what this illness is,” Balin said, trailing after Kíli after the prince had spoken to the healers about Fíli. “Nobody should go in to see him, not even your mother. I am sorry-”

“I know this, Balin.” Kíli frowned, but there was still a lightness in his heart for his mother’s arrival and Fíli’s improvement. “I need to give him hope, though, something to look forward to. I know he can hear me.”

“I don’t doubt that in the slightest. Has he moved since that one night?”

“No, and I’ve been waiting ever since.” He pondered what it meant for Fíli to suddenly move when they were discussing their mother’s arrival. Had he responded to her name? Certainly he would like to think so. “I suppose I should put my robes on, shouldn’t I?” he wondered with a smile as they came to a stop in front of his chambers. As if Balin would let him greet the dwarves of Ered Luin with only a tunic and trousers on.

“And perhaps run a comb through your hair?” his advisor said, his tone just sort of exasperated. “Your crown would help too.”

“All right, all right,” Kíli murmured good-naturedly.

He made quick work of it despite not having spent too much time in his chambers. He knew where everything was, at least, donning his robe and all the other necessary items that signified who he was. When he went to pick up his crown, however, his eyes fell on the runestone lying on its usual cloth beside it. The labradorite was cool in his hand as he reached for it instead, smiling at its familiarity and how the runes themselves always made him remember his promise.

“You’re the one returning to me instead, _amad,_ ” he whispered, bringing the stone up to his lips, “but something tells me you don’t mind. As long as we’re all alive.”

He was too on edge to let his emotions get the better of him, instead gently setting it back down to finish getting ready. Nothing was as simple as a long-awaited homecoming anymore. He should have known that. For some reason he was being tested, they were all _still_ being tested, and it wasn’t fair. Not when they gave up nearly everything for their home.

“Well?” he wondered, stepping out at last when he was finished. Balin gave him a once over before nodding and leading on.

“Passable, although your mother is sure to fuss.”

“Of course she will.” The very thought of it caused him to smile again. At least he was in good company if there were still to be hard times to come. “Would you believe I actually missed that?”

“Aye,” Balin chuckled, “I believe it. I have certainly missed her. She would have served us well on the journey.”

“Well…”

“Despite making the both of you _and_ Thorin behaves yourselves.”

“That wouldn’t have been as fun.”

“But we would have arrived at Erebor much sooner.”

“The orcs wouldn’t have even troubled us with her around.”

“Indeed they wouldn’t.”

Kíli chuckled, then a thought came to him from seemingly nowhere, although in truth it was a topic not always too far from his mind.

“Do you think she would have liked Bilbo?” he asked quietly. He had never spoken to anyone about the hobbit after his banishment besides Fíli, and even then they didn’t have much time to do so.

That moment still played as clear as day in his memory, the shock over Bilbo’s actions and the fear of what Thorin would do to him frightening him more than anything else they had faced during their journey. Then there was that moment of betrayal that stole the very breath from his lungs. His heart shattered at Bilbo’s words, how someone he had come to love and adore would refer to him as nothing more than a “dwarfling,” as if he was too young to matter. Kíli had wanted to protect him from Thorin, but it seemed Bilbo was above any such thing from him. He deeply resented his brother for being so dismissive of the situation, wanting to know _why_ Bilbo acted in such a way and what he could have possibly done to fall out of his good graces. It hurt more than anything, the helplessness and confusion as part of his family was suddenly broken away from him.

“Aye,” Balin said. “After sizing him up initially I think she would have taken a much quicker shining to him than Thorin did.”

“I thought as much,” he smiled sadly. “He would have liked her too.”

Once Fíli had explained to him just what Bilbo was up to, he remembered feeling almost painfully relieved, as if a joint that was out of its socket had been forced back into place. When it became clear he didn’t doubt that Bilbo regretted what he said to him then, how he disregarded him, and it was then that Kíli felt guilty for thinking the hobbit could turn on him so quickly. He should have realized he had been covering for something, or rather that he was attempting to spare Kíli after the prince’s rash outburst. As if he could let his uncle harm him, though. He acted out of fear. It was something he was learning to control now, but the devotion he had to Bilbo certainly dulled his rationale.

“I wish he could be with us,” Balin added after a time. “It was very foolish of him to take the Arkenstone, but I believe his plan could have worked in the long run.”

“You really think so?”

“Well, at least some of it would have. There was still the matter of the treasure room and its influence, although there is a difference in Thorin with the stone gone completely.”

“I owe it to Bilbo,” Kíli said, and it was true. If it hadn’t been for Bilbo’s idea to get rid of the stone he wouldn’t have thought to go to Bard and convince him to give it to him. Now it was finally in its rightful place. Even if it didn’t make a difference in Thorin when he eventually woke, Kíli would rest better knowing the blasted thing was finally where no one would ever think to look.

“We owe much to Bilbo,” Balin said solemnly.

After walking quickly through the corridors and up to the entrance hall, they made their way out the front gates and upon a sight Kíli wasn't prepared for. There had to have been at least a hundred dwarves, all with packs on their backs, either sitting or standing mostly huddled together. A good quarter of them looked visibly ill from what Kíli could see, though every last one was clearly tired and worn from the long journey. He was sad to find that these were not the strong dwarves he knew from Ered Luin. They were somber, beaten down, and he would guess grieved by their losses.

"Balin," he said, "I ordered dwarves to help them along their way."

"Aye, by the time they reached them they were already well over the MistyMountains."

"Then that means-"

"They set out not long after we did."

Kíli was too stunned at this revelation at first to fully process it, but when he realized he was starting to attract most of their attention he knew he had to speak out soon. Before he could even think how to go about doing so, however, as voice off to his left caught his attention.

"Your Highness, surely we do not have the room."

Kíli turned to see one of the older lords, Ovek, standing next to him. The thought alone made him seethe as he had done before when Balin told him about their arrival. He knew Ovek to be a cautious dwarf, perhaps too set in his ways at times, but he never knew him to be cruel.

"Would you have me turn them away?" he said heatedly, anger starting to burn in him. "Our sick kin? They were behind us the whole time, perhaps even protecting us as we fought our way to Erebor. Would you have me turn away the potential for growth in our kingdom? Miners, crafters, weapon makers...tell me," he nearly growled, "would you have me turn away my own _mother,_ your Lady Dís?"

Ovek’s eyes were wide at his last words, scrambling to find his own response. Balin's hand was a heavy weight on Kíli’s shoulder, but soon the prince turned away from them and finally addressed the crowd.

"You are welcome here," he called out. Murmurs broke out amongst them, though they soon fell silent again. "I know there are many among you who are sick, so I ask that you be patient as we try and find a safe place to put you. We do not wish to isolate you, but since we have sick of our own and we don't want any illness that you bring to spread to them then we are left with little choice. I hope you can find this agreeable." Again, more murmurs but not many of dissent. It seemed the majority were just happy to have a safe place to finally rest. "Then our healers will be down to assist you shortly."

He let out a breath, about to retreat when an all too familiar voice called out,

" _Shamukh,_ Prince Kíli!”

“ _Amad,_ ” he whispered.

He had been looking for her to no avail as he spoke, but as his mother stepped out of the crowd that echoed her words around her he didn’t know whether he wanted to run down to her or keep staring at her. It had been much too long since he had seen her last, though as he studied her there was not much that had changed. She certainly didn’t look ill, her jet black hair and beard as vibrant as ever while the beads adorning her braids gleamed in the sunlight. Her clever blue eyes stared up at him with what he realized to be adoration, shining as they stood out from her dark golden skin, and he never knew a sight as welcome as his beautiful mother.

"I am glad indeed to see her at last," Balin sighed from beside him.

Kíli knew his grin was anything but princely, his lips stretching wide as he rose his hand in greeting. Keeping a good posture and a noble expression were the farthest things from his mind, though, even if she would scold him for it later. He would take _any_ words from her at that point, even if they made him blush as her previous ones had.

"I do not understand how she can be ill," Ovek said, "for she looks as lovely as ever."

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Kíli asked shortly. He didn't bother turning to the dwarf, instead watching as a healer approached his mother. The same question had gone through his head, but he didn't need Ovek to voice it.

"Er..."

"If you would help see that the proper accommodations are in order," Balin said, "then that should ease your mind about if we have enough room."

"And if we don't?"

"Then make it."

Kíli smiled, glancing over to see Balin's stern expression before addressing the other lord again.

"I suggest you heed his words," he said.

Ovek obeyed, not without a bit of bumbling and murmuring on his part, but soon only Kíli and Balin remained.

“Are you sure you heard correctly?” Kíli went on.

“The messenger was very specific with his numbers when he told us how many were sick. He made a point to name Lady Dís as well.”

Sighing, the prince returned his gaze to his mother as she conversed with the healer, a slight frown on her face as she gestured to the ones around her. She would glance up at him every now and then as well, her smile returning if only for a moment. He remembered to return it so she wouldn’t worry. He didn’t want her to see how terrified he truly was.

“Did we do something wrong, Balin?” he wondered. “Were we not meant to take back Erebor after all?”

“None of that, now. We will take this one day a time as we have done with everything else. We should go in as well,” Balin added gently. Kíli looked over at him, brow furrowed and about to speak before he was silenced by a hand. “You will see her, but in the meantime our priority is seeing that the rest are comfortable. Trust me, lad. You know what it is like to travel that distance.”

“All too well,” Kíli sighed. “Fine, but the moment I see her I don’t care who is around. I _will_ greet my mother.”

“I certainly won’t risk my life coming in between the two of you,” Balin chuckled.

Unfortunately there was one who did just that, and for reasons that were not easy to argue with. Kíli went through the tedious process of greeting the dwarves as they came in, helping to direct them to their rooms and attempting to learn at least some of their names. He was puzzled when the sick kept their distance, but then he should have known better. They were trying to contain whatever it was that plagued them and it was because of this that they were led off to a different part of the kingdom entirely. He was impressed with how the situation was handled on such short notice, having to give most if not all of the credit to the diligent healers and their quick thinking. Such thoughts would not stay with him, however, when he finally saw his mother walk in and was prevented from running up to greet her.

“Your Highness,” came Óin’s gruff voice as he firmly gripped Kíli’s shoulder.

“Can it wait a moment, I just want to-”

“I’m afraid it can’t.”

Kíli sighed, having to tear his gaze from his mother and look up at the healer instead.

“What is it?” The tired and regretful look in Óin’s eyes still wouldn’t prepare him for his next words. “Óin, please.”

“I can’t let you go to her like that,” he sighed.

“ _What?_ ”

“Not when we don’t know what she has. I’m sorry, laddie.” Óin’s voice dropped to an uncharacteristic whisper, something Kíli had to strain to hear. “We have to keep them all separate and she is no exception.”

“But I just...I can’t even talk to her?”

“Of course,” the healer said quickly, “just don’t get too close.”

Rage filled Kíli unexpectedly, his fists clenching and teeth grinding as he fought hard to contain himself. He wasn’t angry at Óin, but to not be able to hug his sick mother after being apart for so long was surely some cruel joke being played on him by something that simply did not want him to be happy. It also meant his mother wouldn’t be able to see Fíli or Thorin anytime soon, something he knew she would want to do as soon as she could once she learned of their conditions.

“Lad?” Óin asked. “Stay here for me.”

“Why?” he gritted.

“Just give me a moment.”

Kíli watched him walk off, about to storm after him and cause a scene before he saw him go to his mother. She looked over at him again after speaking with the healer, nodding once as they made their way back over. Her smile wasn’t as radiant as before but it was kind as she regarded Kíli, hands on her hips as she gave him a knowing look.

“No pouting, my _nanging,_ it is most unbecoming.”

A whimper escaped from him at that, making an abortive gesture to reach out to her before remembering Óin’s words.

“I missed you,” he said instead, voice small like a dwarfling’s. He didn’t know what else to say, feeling as if a wall blocked him off from her instead of the empty space between them.

“And I missed you. We have much to talk about, _mimel ze._ Look how much you have grown.” Her smile was bright at this, but there was something in her eyes that let him know how much this pained her as well. “Do not let me keep you. I know you have much to attend to.”

“But you aren’t well.” His voice raised slightly, causing some of the passing dwarves to glance over. Her expression grew stern, then, and he bowed his head. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“You have responsibilities to our people, _inùdoy,_ ” she sighed. “Go to them. I will be well soon.” She made a gesture in Inglishmek that, despite his heavy heart, made him trust in her words.

“Please let me come to you tonight,” he said, “when I’m finished.”

“Of course, _kurdu._ ”

But when he finally had the chance to, after the long day was finally through and he arrived at her doors weary in both mind and body, he was told that she had retired for the night. When he was allowed to at least look inside he could see that she was asleep in her bed, face relaxed but much paler than before.

“Your Highness.”

Kíli turned and was startled to find Óin standing right beside him.

“I wasn’t going to go in,” he whispered hurriedly. “I just wanted to say good night.”

“I know, but for as much as she tried she could not stay awake. You need to let her rest.”

“I...I will, Óin. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Lad, wait. You should know I won’t be looking after your brother anymore.”

“Why?” Kíli wondered.

“He will still be in Gima’s capable hands, but now that I have been among the sick I would only be putting him at risk.”

“That, well...makes sense. Do you think it’s catching?”

“That is something we will have to figure out. Until then, you remember what I told you-”

“Yes,” he said shortly. Óin bowed his head, offering him a look that made the prince regret his impatience. With a heavy sigh, Kíli reached out to grip his hand. “Thank you, Óin, for everything.”

“Aye, it’s my honor, Your Highness.”

Still, Kíli left feeling disappointed, wanting so dearly to speak to his mother. As he made his way down to Fíli, though, he wondered what he would tell his brother. Surely he didn’t want to worry him, so he would keep silent about their mother for now, saying only how beautiful she looked in the sunlight as she gazed up at the gates of Erebor and how proud they all were of how bravely she led the dwarves across Middle Earth to their new home. Perhaps it would even be enough to soothe his own troubled mind.

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

The days dragged on despite how busy Kíli was with his duties. The news of Thorin finally waking spread like wildfire and though it brought him relief, every time he asked a healer if he could see his uncle he was met with the same response. Thorin was not fully healed, they would say, and he needed his rest. It frustrated him and only added to his worries as he went about his days. Despite how he remembered him before the battle, Kíli loved Thorin and wanted to see that he was well. He couldn’t speak with his mother but for a few moments at a time, prevented from spending the time he wanted with her, and Fíli had not shown any more signs of improvement. For once he wanted to be with a member of his family he could talk with for as long as he wanted.

Finally, when he could barely take it any longer, the day came when he was finally summoned by his uncle. He almost ran he was so eager to see him, ignoring the warnings and the doubtful looks on the faces of the healers. He was wary at first, cautious as he walked in to find Thorin sitting upright in bed, but the soft look his uncle afforded him made him let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding and carefully give into a gentle hug. He was mindful of the thick wrappings around his chest, but Thorin didn’t seem to mind.

“ _Namadinùdoy,_ ” Thorin murmured into his hair. “It is good to see you well.”

“And you,” Kíli said, pulling away to sit by his side. “We were, uhm, well...we were really worried.”

He wasn’t quite sure why he felt awkward in that moment, looking down to play with the hem of his robe. Perhaps he was used to the way Thorin had been before the battle, blinded by gold sickness and distancing himself from everyone, but he at least didn’t seem to be that way now. He had just woken up after being unconscious for close to two weeks. Did he even remember how he had been before then?

Slowly he was able to converse with his uncle despite his uncertainty, telling him everything he could think of that happened after the battle. Thorin wore a slight frown as he listened, asking questions every now and then that made Kíli scramble for answers, but he never seemed displeased. Then when he tentatively brought up the topic of his mother and Fíli he thought he was going to see his uncle cry in front of him. The look in his eyes was so heartbreakingly sad that Kíli had to look away again as he spoke, saying how she was sick and how Fíli still hadn’t woken completely.

“And you,” Thorin said, his voice still soft, “left to put Erebor back together. You were not ready.”

“No,” he shook his head. “Balin has helped in so many ways. The credit should be given to him.”

“That I do not doubt, but I’m sure if I were to speak to him he would say differently.”

Kíli blushed, changing the topic to ask some of the political questions burning on his mind that he knew only Thorin could answer. He was happy to hear his uncle talk, listening with interest and no small amount of gratitude that they were both distracted from themselves for a time.

He spent a good amount of time there that when a healer finally came in to kick him out- to which Thorin’s protest was interrupted by a great yawn- he took his leave without any trouble.

“Rest well, uncle,” Kíli said with a smile. “I’ll be back to visit.” He gave him another hug, pleased when a kiss was placed on the top of his head, but he was stopped just as soon as he reached the door.

“Kíli,” he heard Thorin say. When he turned back he was almost startled at the look in his uncle’s eyes, suddenly eager with whatever thought had just occurred to him. “What of the Arkenstone?”

Whatever momentary happiness Kíli felt turned to dread at those words, panicking as he tried to find the right answer.

“We’re working on it,” he blurted instead. He cursed himself for not thinking of this any sooner, not wanting to believe Thorin would still think of that wretched thing. There had been nothing in his demeanor to suggest he still had such a thing on his mind. He seemed like his normal self again, but then was gold sickness something that ever truly left someone? “Don’t worry about,” he went on with a forced smile. “We’ll get it back again.”

“Good lad.”

When he left for good his head was spinning as he walked down the corridor, frightened when he thought of what Thorin’s future might hold. Would he slip right back into the sickness? Kíli did what he had to in order to prevent such a thing, but maybe it didn’t matter. He knew what it did to one’s head and of the sinister whispers that were impossible to silence. He himself hadn’t had them since the gold was moved, yet every now and then his thoughts would turn darker when he wasn’t careful. Thorin would be worse, of course, especially if he wasn’t fighting against it. Perhaps it was just a part of him now, something to be tamed instead of conquered.

Kíli shivered, doubt and fear washing over him. He was completely distracted as he walked to the throne room, almost running into Balin before the white-haired dwarf threw his hands up and stopped him just in time.

“Oh...Balin, sorry, I-”

Balin took a gentle hold of his arms and led him to the side.

“Did you hear, Your Highness?” he asked quickly.

“Hear what?”

“The healers have found the disease is not catching.”

Kíli couldn’t keep up with his words at first, his mind still on Thorin, but as realization hit his breath hitched and he brought a shaking hand up to cover his mouth.

“Mahal, but Óin was just saying...nevermind, that doesn’t matter now. Are they reuniting the families or do I have to force them to?”

“No,” Balin chuckled, “no need to worry about that. Already they are allowing them to sit by their sides.”

“Good, that’s…” He forced himself to remain composed as he truly realized what it meant, that now his mother could finally see Fíli. “Balin, I-”

“Go to them, lad, your business should be finished for the day. If not then I will see to it.”

“Thank you,” he breathed.

Upon reaching Fíli’s room, the sight that greeted him did not make his smile last for much longer. His mother was sitting beside Fíli in the chair Kíli usually sat in, her shoulders shaking and her usually strong voice wavering as she softly sang to him. He paused for a moment, taking in a deep sigh and reminding himself that of course she would be like this. Of course she would grieve for the state Fíli was in, even if he was still alive.

“I never wanted to see either of you like this,” came her tired voice.

“He is strong, mama,” he found himself saying. He walked up to her and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “He stirs every now and then, did you know that? The healers thought it was from pain, but I know he’s coming back.” He knelt by her side, then, wrapping an arm around her and resting his head on her shoulder as he carded his fingers through Fíli’s hair.

“It frightens me still. What could have happened…” She let out a shaky sigh, leaning her head on Kíli’s.

“But it didn’t,” he said. “We kept our promises, _amad._ ”

“That you did, my _kurdu._ ”

They were silent for a time until she started to sing again, low and comforting. He knew Fíli could hear, but he hoped he knew who it was that sang so sweetly. Surely he would recognize their mother’s voice even if he wasn’t conscious. Perhaps it would even rouse him for a bit so she could see how well he was doing?

Fíli did not stir, though, and soon Kíli became aware that it was time to care for his brother like he usually did around that time. The healers saw to the older prince’s comfort and cleanliness throughout the day when Kíli was busy with his duties, but he insisted on taking over at least twice before he turned in for the night.

“I’m going to take care of him now,” he murmured, gently breaking away from his mother to stand. She did not seem to understand at first, watching as he walked over to the basin of fresh water provided by the healers. It sat beside the fire, perfectly warm to the touch, but still he placed it over the flames so it wouldn’t grow cold too quickly.

“Do you mean to clean him?” she asked.

“I have been doing so ever since I was able,” he explained calmly. “The healers wouldn’t let me at first, but I insisted. I want to help him, mama, I _need_ to in any way that I can. Even when it isn’t the nicest duty.” He quirked a smile, happy to see her return it. “I will do anything to ensure his comfort, and really it isn’t all bad. His nutrition is poor, they tell me, which is why it is important to keep turning him every so often on his side. I don’t fully understand it myself, but I know it helps.”

“It does. My dear son, you are a gift from Mahal- no, don’t give me that look.” Kíli looked away instead, blushing as he checked the water again. She walked over to him, gently cupping his face in her hands until he met her eyes. “ _Vaen gogaz._ May I help you?”

“Of course,” he said quietly.

It was nice to have someone help him with his task. He didn’t mind doing it by himself, of course, but it went faster when she helped keep Fíli on his side so he could clean him and inspect his skin for any breakdown.

“You should be a healer, my _nanging,_ ” she commented at one point, clearly impressed with his actions.

“Healers have too many to take care of at once,” he chuckled softly. “I can only handle one.”

“Or perhaps a father one day? We have a few poor dwarflings who lost their parents along the way.” Kíli would have sputtered had he not been so intent on the care he knew he had to take with his brother’s fragile body. As it was, his cheeks heated once again as he tried to ignore her words. “It is just a thought. I always felt that the both of you would make excellent _addad._ ”

As he finished up, even though he couldn’t think of a response of any kind he still thought on her words. He didn’t think he would make a good father. It wasn’t that he disliked children, he just didn’t trust himself with them. Fíli, though, _he_ would make a wonderful father. He was loving, patient, much too wise for his own good, and the strength he had to endure anything would surely see him through even the most nervewracking moments of caring for a child. Maybe they could do it together, but Kíli knew that his brother would take the lead and would do it admirably.

He was finally about to say as much to his mother, make her smile at least with his own musings, when he looked up to find that she had paled considerably.

“What is it?” he asked quickly, frightened that maybe she had found something wrong with Fíli.

“Nothing, _kurdu,_ ” she breathed, “I just...need to sit for a moment, that is all.” He was over to her in an instant, helping her do just that despite her protests. “I’m fine, no need to fuss. The air is not so fresh in here.”

The fact that they had all gone out of their way to make sure that wasn’t so, that the air circulated just fine especially in Fíli’s room, told Kíli all he needed to know. She was getting worse. Whatever it was that made her like that was due to her illness, not to any outside force, and the very thought made him want to cry. Had she suffered alone for this long?

“Please do not worry,” she went on, giving him a smile.

But he would, though, and sadly his suspicions were right. When he eventually confronted her healers they admitted as much too. Despite this nothing could prepare him for the truth, something he found out a few days after when he visited her one afternoon.

As Kíli came upon his mother’s room he could hear voices coming from inside, startled when they sounded heated. One was raised above the other, decidedly his mother's, and he was about to enter when he recognized his uncle's tones. He paused after that. He didn't want to interrupt them, but he wasn't happy about his mother being upset, especially with her sickness. Not that it stopped her if the shouts were anything to go by. As loud as they were the stone doors prevented him from hearing what exactly they were arguing about, but he probably could have guessed.

The more Thorin regained his strength, the more his memory and stubbornness came back to him. He couldn’t even walk well, but still he insisted on limping around for as long as he could before growing weary. It would have been admirable if it didn’t cause the healers to worry or for a potential setback to occur. Kíli just thought he was being foolish. He also didn’t care for the change in his uncle's regard for him. The way the king inspected the prince’s work now that he had a chance to see what he had done was disconcerting, always wearing a frown as he asked him why he made certain decisions or wondered why the Arkenstone hadn’t been returned yet. Kíli still didn’t have the nerve to tell him the truth, but at least the king had yet to pay the treasure room a visit. Well, what once was the treasure room, anyway. He wasn’t sure Thorin would have survived the shock so early in his recovery.

As he thought on all of this and before he could decide if he should enter, the door suddenly opened before him. Thorin walked out with a deep frown, face worn and pale but when their eyes met Kíli was surprised to see him soften. A hand came up to his shoulder and squeezed gently. No words passed between them at first, which was usual for how their relationship was currently, although Kíli would have preferred a cold shoulder over the pity that shone in his uncle's eyes. He felt sorrow for him in that brief moment, knowing what it felt like to worry about a loved one, but just as soon brushed it away when he thought of how he had clearly just upset his mother.

"Is she well?" he asked tightly.

"She will be glad to see you."

That didn't answer the question, but Kíli wasn't about to press it. Instead he nodded, watching the king lean against a healer and limp away before going in. His mother didn’t notice him at first, turned as she was to the window. Her shoulders were tense even as they shook slightly with the cough she was covering with the back of her hand. As she muttered to herself in Khuzdul about insufferable brothers Kíli crept up quietly behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle. She never startled easily so he knew he could get away with it without any reprimand. Indeed, just as soon as he did so and rested his chin on her shoulder she leaned back into him with a sigh.

“Did he upset you, _amad?_ ” he asked gently.

“No, I simply must remember who he is now. Even so I should not have yelled.” She turned in Kíli’s arms, smiling up at him as she brushed his hair back.

“I...I have never heard you admit such a thing.”

“Because I trust you will tell no one I said it.” Even as she said it with a smile, Kíli knew better than to disagree. “He is in denial, and perhaps he deserves to be for our topic was not one taken lightly. He also still struggles with things outside of his control. Now _that_ is the brother I know.” Her grin was wicked, but soon faltered as she studied Kíli’s expression.

“May I ask what the topic was?” The dread he first felt when he learned of his mother’s sickness returned and this time he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know why. When she reached up with both hands to cup his face and place a kiss on his forehead, the feeling intensified. “Mama?”

“You know I am sick, Kíli,” she started. “It is nothing new, and nothing different from what passed around when we made the journey here. Because it wasn’t catching the healers are still having a difficult time figuring out just what it is, why some can be healed and others cannot. Mine has spread, apparently.” She shrugged. “Or at least that is what Óin has told me.”

“Spread?”

“To different parts of my body. They think that if they can catch it early then there is a better chance for healing, for survival-”

“Wait…”

“-but if not then it can be rather nasty.”

Kíli was quiet for a moment, heart pounding loud in his ears and his mother’s hands cold against his face when they should have been warm.

“What are you saying?” he managed to gasp. “W-what...I don’t understand.”

“I am not well,” she sighed. “There is no decent way to say so, but I am sorry it had to be in this way. I was going to come to you, for I had only heard this morning-”

“But what does it _mean?_ ” He didn’t know why he had to hear it. He certainly didn’t _want_ to hear such a thing, but for it to be true he had to hear it from her lips. She would never lie to him.

“I am dying, Kíli.”

He shuddered hard at the words, the color draining from his face as he clung to her for support.

“No,” he whispered. Already tears spilled down his cheeks and she had to help him over to sit on the settee in front of the fire.

“Sweet one,” she soothed, cradling him close and wiping his tears away. “Perhaps it is too much to ask, but do not be sad _._ I can make peace with it, truly. My _daurniti_ are safe and sound, and so is my brother.” She paused, a slight frown on her face before she touched her forehead to Kíli’s. “Fíli will wake, this I know. He is strong and stubborn like your uncle, but his heart is his own and it will bring him back to you.”

“But he’ll miss you,” Kíli sniffled. He felt like a dwarfling again, curled against his mother and crying on her lap. “ _I’ll_ miss you!” There was good reason for it, though, his title be damned. After all she had been through, what he and Fíli fought for and what Thorin had sacrificed everything for… “Don’t go. Please, there has to be a way.”

“Well, your uncle is determined to find it,” she chuckled darkly. “I wished him luck, but he didn’t seem to appreciate that.” Kíli couldn’t hold back a sob, to which she quickly sobered. “My sweet lad, I know this is hard. I know, and truly if there was a way I would do everything within my power to take it. I do not wish for all of the healers’ attention, though, not when there are others who can be healed from this.”

“But you are royalty,” Kíli whined.

“Now, I will hear none of that.”

“I only mean-”

“We are no more important than our subjects. Indeed our safety and health is important, for we are needed to rule this kingdom, but my chance for the throne has passed. It lies now with you and Fíli once Thorin steps down, and as long as I am alive my sons will be as well.” It was stated as a stern promise rather than a fanciful wish, and his mother never made light on her promises. “If I am to pass, then it will be with this knowledge and nothing less.”

What could Kíli say to that? If he could speak at all, anyway, for grief washed over him and made him incapable of uttering another word. He sat there with her, gutted from his sorrow and allowing himself to sob until he physically couldn’t any longer. When the tears stopped he still lay with his head against her breast, listening to her soft voice and trembling from fear and sorrow. It couldn’t be. It just... _why?_

“I once asked Balin,” he rasped, “if we did something wrong. If we did anything to deserve such trouble.”

“You know very well that we have Mahal to thank for the success of Thorin’s quest. We are rebuilding our home, one that will provide much more than Ered Luin could have done. I see that, now, _kurdu,_ don’t you?”

“Not when it has cost us so much.”

His mother sighed but did not counter his words, instead drawing him closer to her.

“I am sorry,” she whispered at one point. “If I truly had a choice it would never be to leave you.”

“I know, _amad,_ ” he cried softly, “I know.”

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

The sickness was quick to consume her, or at least it felt that way to Kíli. In that time Thorin was able to walk on his own, still pale as death but able to at least see part of his kingdom. They wasted no time in determining when he would be truly fit to rule again now that he was truly improving. The healers were still hesitant, Óin absolutely adamant at one point that they were foolish to even think of such a thing yet, but Thorin was stern in his wishes. He stated would rule from his own bed if he must and no one doubted his words. So Kíli was to step down soon, still ruling as regent in the meantime with the exception of his uncle overseeing most of his decisions instead of Balin advising him on them. It was a terrifying thought, especially when Thorin was so intimidating now. The prince would much rather have given over the throne and washed his hands of all responsibility than to have his still half-crazed uncle breathing down his neck.

Kíli was walking out of the king's room after a heated argument about his decision to take apart the treasure room- predictably Thorin had been enraged- when he got word that his mother wished to see him. Immediately he went to her rooms, terrified at what he might find, but instead seeing her sitting calmly by the fire.

“ _Nanging,_ ” she sighed contentedly when he entered.

“Are you well?” He stood in the doorway, looking at her closely before she tsked and gestured for him to come closer.

“Why are you inspecting me as if I might burst into flames at any moment? Come, sit with me. You yourself do not look well at all.” When he obeyed and sat down next to her, a hand came up to gently cup his chin. His head was turned this way and that as his mother frowned, then she made a low noise in her throat as she lightly patted his cheek. “You look pale.”

“I was just talking with Uncle,” he said softly.

“Well, that will do it. What was it this time?”

“He is upset over the treasure room being, uhm...well, it doesn’t exist anymore.”

His mother raised her eyebrows, the rest of her countenance completely still.

“And why is that?”

“Because of what it did to him,” he explained quickly, “and to great grandfather for that matter. All of it in one place is a distraction, so I thought if I spread it throughout the mountain-”

“Kíli,” she said, “that was very dangerous.”

“I know. Balin was against it at first, but when I started explaining it he agreed to give it a try.”

“I cannot believe he would agree to such a thing.” She shook her head, putting a hand up to her mouth and narrowing her eyes. “You do remember where you put it all.”

“Of course I do!” He struggled not to raise his voice, though he was finding it quite difficult to stay calm after having the same argument with Thorin. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I am not, _kurdu,_ ” she was quick to say. He hand dropped back down to her lap but the one still on Kíli’s cheek went to the back of his neck and pulled him closer. “It is just unorthodox. That room has housed all of Erebor’s wealth since the kingdom itself was established.”

“I know, and look at what it’s done,” he said stubbornly. “A half-crazed king and a dragon later we’re only _just_ rebuilding what we managed to reclaim. Not to mention we’re still defending it against orcs. As if that battle wasn’t enough.” He shivered hard at the thought of that day, deeply disturbed both by what he remembered and what he didn’t. He was only brought back to the present by his mother’s hand stroking through his hair. “The only reason why it happened was because of the gold...and the Arkenstone, of course, but that is no longer a problem.”

“Have you destroyed it?” she murmured.

“Let’s just say no one will ever see it again, not even myself.”

“You have been busy, my boy.”

“I don’t want our journey to have been in vain. It was meant to be, _amad,_ that’s why we made it this far. Uncle knows that too. He’s always believed in it, and we always believed in him.”

“Aye, I thought he was mad at first but both the map and key coming to him through Tharkûn was no coincidence. My _adad_ knew what he was doing. If I did not have my responsibilities in Ered Luin I would have very much desired to be there on the journey that made my little _nanging_ blossom into the dwarf he is today.”

“Mama,” Kíli blushed.

“Oh, hush,” she chuckled, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. “Perhaps you needed the time away from your _amad_ anyway. There is much you have experienced that a safe kingdom could not have taught you.”

“I did learn from it.” He frowned, thinking on the trials he had been through with the company. “I think I learned more in the end, but some things I wish I hadn’t.”

“You witnessed true battle for the first time,” his mother sighed. “You felt fear for the ones you thought would be lost to you. I am sorry to say that I know those feelings all too well, although loss has sadly been part of my life.”

“We did lose something, though,” he whispered, “although not in that way, thank Mahal.” When he was met with a look of confusion he felt something in him stir. “No one told you of Bilbo?”

“The name is not familiar to me. Thorin did mention a burglar-”

“I’m surprised he was the one to mention him at all,” Kíli snorted. “It doesn’t surprise me that he wasn’t given his proper name. Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins, and he was as good a member of Uncle’s company as any.”

He recounted the many fond memories he had of Bilbo to his mother, pleased when she both laughed at some points and listened with rapt attention at others. There were even a few tears shining in her eyes by the end, her anger over his so-called betrayal giving way to an understanding Kíli knew he could count on.

“I didn’t know why he did such a thing at first either, but even though he wasn’t given a chance to explain himself it became obvious he did it for Thorin. He loves him so much. Whether Uncle still loves him too, well,” he scoffed, shaking his head.

“Your uncle is not lost to us,” she said, “and certainly if Bilbo is his One then he will come to listen to his heart once more.”

“I just don’t know him anymore and after what he did to Bilbo-”

“He does not have his mind, but that doesn’t mean he is hopeless. I have no doubt he needs Bilbo back in his life to make him more stable, to complete him just as your brother completes you.”

“But he almost killed him! Then he banished him from Erebor... _amad,_ he won’t take that back. He’s too proud.”

“Should we just give up on him, then? That means giving up on Bilbo as well if he loves Thorin so much.”

“No,” Kíli whispered, “I would never-”

“ _Kurdu,_ he will heal only if we stop enabling his sickness. He makes me so very angry sometimes, I know, but we can’t let him have this effect on us. If his greed is allowed to control us then it won’t be long before Erebor is at risk again for another catastrophe.”

“Already Dain’s men are wary of him. They don’t even like that I’m regent. Although I can’t say I blame them,” he added with a dry chuckle.

“You have impressed me more than anything with how you’ve handled your duties.” Her tone was deadly serious, eyebrows raised as if challenging him to disagree.

“I...well, I tried,” he blushed. “I love this kingdom even if I have never been part of it before. The dwarves are more or less the same, though, and we’ve come far for this. To turn my back on it when I was needed most would have been a betrayal I never would have lived down.” He swallowed hard, hanging his head and saying softly, “Bilbo’s actions would have been in vain as well. He did what he could, and so I did the same.”

When his mother didn’t speak, he looked back up to see a small smile on her face.

“You had a mother with you after all,” she said kindly.

“He would have something to say about that, I’m sure,” he chuckled sadly. “Yes, he was very good to us, mama.”

“I should have liked to meet him.”

“I wish you could have. He deserved better, though.”

“But you said yourself how much he loves Thorin.”

“Yes,” he conceded, shoulders slumping in defeat. She was right as always. “I don’t even think he would even hesitate to come back if given the chance. How I wish he would.” If Kíli hadn’t leaned in to rest his head on her shoulder in that moment then he would have seen the look of contemplation on her face. She would have waved aside his questions anyway, but as it was he remained unaware of her thoughts as she spoke soothing words to him instead.

The thought of Bilbo and his mother together, possibly even friends, made him smile. Kíli missed the hobbit dearly and even the halls of Erebor somehow seemed empty without him. They could certainly do with his good cheer and his level-headedness when things were too out of hand. He always had a way of making them see clearly, especially Thorin before he was too far gone in his sickness, but Kíli could have used his guidance now. To lose his mother on top of everything else would have made him run from the mountain never to look back had he not had his brother to care for. It was a childish notion, but at that point he couldn’t be bothered.

He had to watch her suffer, had to hold her hand as the pain overcame her. Between going to her and seeing to Fíli, it was more of a blessing that Thorin was awake despite how often they argued. At least he was able to take care of Erebor in the way it deserved. Kíli was much too focused on those that he loved to even think about ruling the kingdom.

But then one day, one dark and truly horrible day, the prince found himself standing in the corridor outside of his mother’s room, stunned into silence at what he had just witnessed. He wasn’t himself in that moment. It was as if he had left his body and was staring down at the lone, pale figure that looked as if it would collapse at any time for how violently it swayed. He didn’t feel himself moving, though, didn’t realize instinct drove him to place a shaking hand on the wall next to him so he _wouldn’t_ fall over. He felt...cold. Freezing, in fact, as if death came for him too. It was not to be, though, even if deep down he wished to follow after his mother.

No. It was her body that lay still inside that room while the healers still tried to resuscitate her. Kíli was left to stand breathing, alone, after he couldn’t take it anymore. He knew, though. He knew his mother and he knew when he heard her draw her last rattling breath. Truthfully he should not have witnessed it, should have stepped out to let the healers make the call, but he knew that even if she didn’t have the wherewithal to acknowledge him due to the intense pain she was suffering from, she still knew he was there with her.

Now it was over. Her pain was gone. No longer would she be kept up at night and no longer would he wipe her brow whispering promises that he was there with her, that her pain would go away. He didn’t know how desperately he wanted her to be without it. Some part of him that he couldn’t rationalize during that time was almost thankful that it was finally over, for the way she went was not peaceful at all.

But oh Mahal, did he feel so empty.

When he found his way to Fíli’s side once more- always he would go to him, his One, his comfort- Kíli cried until he couldn’t, gripping his brother’s arm with one hand and covering his face with the other. He felt as if he had no strength left, all of it crushed as he watched his mother fade. Part of him knew he didn’t even need that strength anymore, not with her gone. There was no more need to cover his fear, to pretend to understand why she was so accepting of her death and smile when his heart was breaking with each day. Now he allowed himself to grieve. Now it didn’t matter. Thorin would take his rightful place on the throne once more and Kíli was no longer needed. He hadn’t seen his uncle in the past few days and knew he would be informed soon if he hadn’t already heard of his sister’s death. He would not respond well, surely, but he would still rule without allowing his grief to get in the way. Kíli surely wouldn’t be able to do the same, so perhaps he would step down sooner than they had planned. It didn’t matter...

“ _Nadad,”_ he whimpered, looking up at Fíli. “Don’t leave me too.”

Fíli hadn’t responded, hadn’t even stirred. Would he follow after their mother too?

A sob was wrenched from Kíli’s throat at the very thought and he buried his face in the crook of his brother’s arm. He stayed that way for what could have been hours, or at least it felt that long, and if his back protested at the angle in which he was bent then at least it helped to distract him at times.

In reality he didn’t last for very long until he was found. A hand came to rest on his shoulder before slipping down to wrap around his waist and pull him to his feet.

“Just for a moment, laddie,” whispered Balin’s kind voice. Kíli had the mind to pull away and return to his brother, but his exhaustion made him complacent. He stood tucked under Balin’s arm, head hanging and tears still streaming from his closed eyes. It was when he heard the sound of an awfully loud scraping noise that he looked up, wincing. “Er,” Balin said, louder this time. “Perhaps if you pick it up…”

Kíli was dumbfounded as he watched Óin push the cot he usually slept in across the floor, the metal being the cause of the noise. The healer stopped, turned his new ear trumpet towards Balin and cocked his head.

“What was that, lad?”

“I said if you pick it up instead-”

“Why would I do that, it’s moving just fine!”

“For Mahal’s sake,” Balin huffed. Something small inside of Kíli warmed at their efforts if only for the briefest of moments, especially when he realized what they were up to. “Just pick it up and move it instead of making that horrendous sound!”

“Oh, aye, whatever you say.” At that, Óin picked up the cot effortlessly and set it down gently next to where Fíli lay. “There you go, laddie.”

“Is that all right?” Kíli wondered. “I don’t...only I was told not to sleep next to him so I wouldn’t hurt him.”

“His wounds are healed enough,” Óin said with a smile. “There’s no harm in it.”

“We know you will need time,” Balin said, squeezing the prince once before letting his arm drop, “and anything you need will be brought to you. Just let the healers or the guards know.”

“Thank you.” His voice was hoarse and it he found it rather painful to speak, but still he felt immense gratitude over their kind gestures. Perhaps he underestimated just how much they cared for him, how much they understood what he was going through. He should have known better after traveling with them for so long. As he made his way over to the cot, only too ready to fall into deep sleep, a thought made him falter and look back at Balin.

“Thorin,” he said, swallowing hard. “Does he know?”

“Aye, he was told.”

“I don’t...I want to be left alone.” His voice was small, not wanting to admit such a thing but also overcome with a great desire to not have to see his uncle.

“As you wish,” Balin said, sorrow in his eyes. Kíli nodded and looked away before the older dwarf’s disappointment could get to him, instead crawling under the heavy wool blanket and curling against Fíli’s side.

“Thank you,” he whispered again as his eyes became heavy. A hand touched his head once again, tucking the hair behind his ear before Balin’s gentle voice spoke,

“Rest now, young prince.”

But he couldn't, try as he might, for his tears were too many. Soon his nose and ears were blocked from crying so much, almost painfully so, and he realized he couldn't sleep because he couldn't breathe right. Among other things, of course, among too many _damn_ other things like his mother dying.

Another sob escaped him and he had to shove his fist in his mouth. He bit down, the pain distracting him until he tasted blood, but he didn't relent. He didn't care. For once, he welcomed the bitter pain.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - 

 

  
Broken, weary, and utterly shattered after another run-in with his uncle, Kíli curled up on his cot and placed a hand on his brother's chest. Fíli had stirred only once since their mother's passing, but now the healers seemed to have lost what hope they had. For once, although he was pained to admit it, Kíli was starting to as well. When he took care of his brother it was startling how easily he could count his ribs and the bones of his spine. His cheeks were sallow and the bags under his eyes might as well have been bruises.

He was not the strong, invincible brother Kíli knew.

So it came as a great surprise when, in that moment of Kíli’s despair, Fíli took in another breath. The younger prince didn't sit up at first, tightening his hold on the cloth at Fíli’s chest but not wanting to get his hopes up. It was only when golden eyelashes fluttered and blue eyes opened that Kíli sat up.

"Fee?" he breathed.

"Mmm..." Fíli was surprisingly fast, struggling at first as he tried to sit up.

"Mahal, Fíli, hold on let me just...here." Kíli steadied him, carefully putting an arm under his back and slowly helping him to sit up. Fíli hissed in pain but seemed grateful to alleviate some of the pressure on his back, leaning against Kíli’s shoulder even as he settled against the wall.

"Kee?" His voice was painful to listen to, ragged and hoarse, and his breathing didn't sound any better. "Where am I?"

"You're okay, I've got you," Kíli said, swallowing hard. "Fíli...we're in Erebor. We're safe." He let out a shuddery breath, tears streaming down his face as he nuzzled into his brother's hair. "I can't believe it. You're awake."

"My head," Fíli whimpered.

"Oh." Kíli pulled away slightly, disappointed in himself for not seeing how his brother winced. "Of course, it's no wonder." He bit his lip, not wanting to leave him but knowing he needed to fetch a healer. It was all very well that a guard decided to pop their head in at that moment, about to inquire if everything was well before one look at the scene had them hurriedly promising to be back with a healer. "Thank Mahal," he said.

"Hmm?"

"A healer is going to look at you soon. Are you hungry?"

"Kind of..."

"I would imagine so," he chuckled warmly.

It wasn't just Gima who came in, but three other ones as well, including Óin. All looked amazed to see Fíli awake, except for Gima who was quick to shoo Kíli off to the side as she looked over the older prince. At one point she gave him a sip of water after spoonfeeding him something that looked quite odd. Kíli breathed a sigh of relief, though, when he didn't spit it back up. She seemed satisfied as well yet a bit guarded in the way she spoke to the others.

"He needs nutrition," she said, "food he will keep down now that he can swallow. If not then I fear he will not improve despite his consciousness."

"You know I'll help with anything," Kíli spoke up. Fíli made a noise at that and the younger prince itched to be at his side again.

"Of course you will," Gima smiled. "It is because of you that he is awake now."

The words were completely unexpected, but as the other healers murmured in agreement he had to shake his head.

"There was no other place for me. All of you, though, _you_ were the ones who cared for him properly."

"Aye, but you never gave up hope." Gima shook her head, gently patting Fíli’s shoulder. "We ask for your forgiveness from the both of you for having such doubts."

"S'okay," Fíli muttered, looking up at her with a bleary eyed smile. Kíli’s heart gave a loud thump at that, realizing how long it had been since he had last seen his brother's smile.

 

The healers were busy bustling around, encouraging some food ("Small bites!" Gima would scold) and water into Fíli while further examining him with their various instruments before the prince grew tired once more. He lasted for only a quarter of an hour, eyelids growing heavier by the minute, until the healers were satisfied enough with their thorough inspections.

"You will stay with him." Gima's word were not a question as she finally let Kíli curl up beside him again.

"There is no other place for me."

After she told him what he should look out for, how often they would be back to check on him and what Kíli should be aware of, she pushed the rest of the healers out and sternly told them to get their rest.

"You as well,  _khuzdith_ ," she said to Kíli.

When they left, a profound burst of love and appreciation filling Kíli's chest, he looked to his brother again and smiled as he watched him struggle to keep his beautiful blue eyes open.

"Kíli," he said softly.

"Hush, _nadad,_ you've done so well." He gently brushed his hair back and placed a kiss on his cheek. "You should sleep a little now."

"I heard...I heard mama's voice. Was I dreaming?"

Kíli fought to keep his tears back, at least until his brother finally closed his eyes. When that happened he allowed them to fall again, though they were not entirely from sorrow.

"No," he said after a few moments. "No, Fee, it wasn't a dream. She was here."

He wasn't sure if Fíli would even remember him saying it, but when his lips lifted into a sweet smile Kíli knew it was worth it. That was his only priority, now, to make his One smile even when his own heart was breaking. He could be strong enough for that, somehow. He would find his courage again.


	2. Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is slowly slipping away from the ones who love him, having to rebuild Erebor while battling the gold sickness with each passing day. He isn’t the king they once followed, the uncle they once knew, and somewhere inside he knows this yet deeper he delves, battling his own demons along with the loss of his dear sister. Still, her voice speaks to him even in the darkest of hours and she is truly his last hope despite her passing. It is only up to him to listen before he succumbs completely, to come back up before his grandfather’s madness drags him down completely.  
> -Set after "No Quarter" after the Battle of Five Armies and Bilbo's return to the Shire. First chapter is set in Kili's point of view, the second in Thorin's, and then finally back to Bilbo-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Disturbing images, Character experiences sleep paralysis 
> 
> Many continued thanks to my beta/sanity: cakelydemise

The bells had been restored a day before the proceedings and now they sounded throughout the hall as clear as they ever had before. Only this time as Thorin stood before his kingdom, watching as his sister's stone coffin was carried through the front gates, he felt nothing for the bells from his childhood. The memory of how they would ring out on special occasions, a feast or a festival and how they always brought excitement, was reduced to a slight nagging in the back of his mind. Now they only meant death. Sobs accompanied them instead of laughter, murmurs instead of singing.

Without a word he followed behind the pall-bearers once they passed through the gates, taking the lead as the others filled in behind him accordingly. Kíli walked next to him, face pale as endless silent tears streamed down his face. He had arrived like that to the funeral, stood beside Thorin as the king led the service with the same look and would be the same way, Thorin suspected, for quite some time. It was a blessing that he was no longer regent. The death of his mother alone would have distracted him too much, along with Fíli regaining consciousness. No, Mahal was good to have Thorin wake when he did. It felt as if the injury to his chest was still a gaping hole that only his sister could fill, but he knew he would be able to get on with his work. He would have to or else surely Erebor would fall.

The day was a decent one, the warmth of the sun offsetting the cold breeze that passed through. Along the western slopes just far enough away from the water rested the grounds where they now buried their dead. Kíli had established it since the tombs were still blocked by rubble and debris from Smaug's destruction- _curse_ that dragon forevermore- and already the mounds of dirt and stone slates marking the graves numbered in the hundreds. Because Dís was royalty and of noble blood, however, they had sectioned off a part that was much more well kept than the countless rows of graves. Not that any of them were neglected, but the place they were to lay Dís resided at the head of the yard that was slightly more raised and was already seeing some new growth in terms of natural flora again. Thorin tried to convince himself that this was all rather nice, but one part wondered at how much time and gold was spent on it all while the other ached for the loss of his sister.

“Uncle,” a weak voice said. He glanced over at Kíli, frowning as his nephew barely seemed able to walk.

“We talked about this, _namadinùdoy,_ ” he murmured. “It is your duty to be here.”

“I feel sick, as if…” Kíli swallowed hard, a sheen of sweat breaking out across his forehead. Thorin had to put a hand on his back to keep him going.

“It will not be for much longer. _Sakhab._ ” He gestured out in front of them. “We are nearly there.”

“I know, but I feel-”

“Let me take him back, Thorin.” Balin stepped up beside them, slipping his handkerchief back in his pocket after dabbing at his cheeks. “It has been too much for him.”

“And what will our kingdom say when they see him passing them by?”

“They will see a lad grieving for his mother, and if they say anything...Kíli?”

The prince had stopped in his tracks, bent over at the waist and dry-heaving. Murmurs started all around them as some of the dwarves took notice and stopped to watch with wide eyes.

“Then take him back,” Thorin sighed. He placed a hand on Kíli’s shoulder, mindful of their onlookers, and leaned in. “You have not been sleeping or eating, have you.” He didn’t state it as a question for he knew the signs too well. When his nephew shook his head he gave him a light pat before nodding at his frowning advisor. “Go back with Balin, then, and get some rest. You need to heal properly so this will not happen again.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle,” Kíli said softly.

Thorin ran a hand through his dark brown hair but didn’t respond, something inside managing to reason with him that neither would benefit from him speaking his mind. He had counted on Kíli to see the ceremony through, to be there beside him as a form of support, but he should have known better. Of course the lad would lose his strength with the loss of his mother. Thorin couldn't help but feel disappointed.

Watching only for a brief moment as Balin led the prince away, he turned to silently lead the crowd on. They followed without another word. Upon arriving at the site only a short time after, the ones who bore Dís’s grave standing completely still and waiting for his word, Thorin briefly struggled to tame his own emotions before finally turning to face his subjects again. He wouldn’t watch as his sister was lowered into the ground, speaking instead to those who needed him to say those last words. He reminded them that she was no longer in any pain, that even now as they grieved for her the ones who went before were bringing her into the Halls of their fathers, welcomed by Mahal himself. It was something he took comfort in- or rather clung to if he were to be honest with himself- and by the time he sung his prayer he knew the deed was done by the way some of the heads followed the movement of the casket. He bowed his own head afterward, letting his eyes slip closed. The murmurs around him picked up again, quiet prayers and sobs as the reality struck all at once. Despite all of this, despite his mood and the fact that he would never see his sister living or dead again, still one of the last conversations he had with her echoed through him and continued to shake him to the core like it had done for days now.

_“After all this time I’m sorry to have to leave you.”_

Thorin feared that they would part on bad terms, but there had been conflict between them that he just couldn’t shake. He hadn’t expected her to refuse care, furious that she would give up so easily when still others counted on her. She wouldn’t hear it, though, insistent that nothing could be done for it. It was not in him to accept that mentality in _any_ instance. Always there was something to be done, a battle to be won or something to restore. Their kind was always driven yet it died inside of her along the way and he couldn’t make her tell him why. She almost seemed content in her decision, something that still infuriated him to that day, but although she had given up on her own life she refused to give up on his.

When she summoned him that day she had been much worse than when he last saw her, yet still there was a familiar fire in her eyes as she regarded him from where she lay. He hadn't seen it coming for it wasn't something that had crossed his mind in some time, but it must have been on _her_ mind ever since she heard of it.

_“Bilbo Baggins,”_ she had said. The name itself and the strength with which she spoke it made a jolt go up his spine.

_“Where did you hear that name?”_

_“It doesn’t matter.”_

_“It does. The halfling betrayed us, disgraced our kingdom.”_

_“And yet you love him.”_

He denied it, fought against the very notion. Thorin _had_ loved him, but not anymore. Not when he could have lost everything because of him. Already his own nephew was taking after the traitor. Kíli never admitted as much to him, yet he knew of the reverence he had for the hobbit. He hid the treasure their forefathers worked and fought for throughout the ages, what the company he had been a part of traveled across Middle Earth for. They had nearly lost it, nearly lost each other, and he chose to dishonor that by scattering it throughout the kingdom? Now they had an extended infirmary instead of a treasure room, for still there were many wounded among them. The prince had been clever in that way, but once the room was cleared Thorin would see to it that the treasure was restored. For now he refused to go near it.

Dís, however, seemed pleased when he brought it up.

_“He has learned a valuable lesson from the hobbit,” she responded, making Thorin’s blood boil._

_“He has forgotten what it means to be of the line of Durin! For too long he has been allowed to fill these halls with his fantasies instead of rebuilding our home-”_

_“Do not speak of my son in such a way,” she said shortly. “For too long_ you _have been the one who was allowed to get his way and it has made the sickness in your mind worse than I believe it ever has been.”_

_“There is no sickness in my mind,” he said halfheartedly. One glare from her and he knew better than to waste a lie on her. He didn’t believe it to be, though. Truly he knew he was better than he was before the battle. Why couldn’t anyone else see that?_

_“Nadad,” Dís said more gently, “come here.” She held a hand out to him and he took it without protest. "You have fought too hard to allow the sickness of our grandfather to overcome you. Do you not owe it to yourself to see that? Or are you so far gone from me?"_

_"I am with you," he insisted, "and I am with my kingdom."_

_"My fear is that you will lose yourself. Already you refuse to listen to your own heart. How long will it be until you stop listening to reason?"_

What was he to do? She all but demanded that remembering the love he once had for Bilbo, of all traitors, would help him out of it. Perhaps _she_ had been the one who was losing her reason. After all her illness caused her a relentless fever up until the very end. As soon as he had the thought, however, he felt guilty. It was no way to think of her even if they disagreed. There was something to her words that made a question deep inside of him attempt to resurface, but he was quick to strike it back down. There was no time to entertain the thought. He knew where he stood on the matter.

He was the last to leave that day, his back still to her grave as he slowly walked back to the gates. The two guards that followed him were silent, footsteps barely making any noise, and truly when he allowed himself to feel it the loneliness that washed over him was nearly unbearable. Yet still he walked on. It was all he knew how to do, anyway. Losing his home along with his grandfather and father, years spent caring for exiles and lowering his worth to make sure they didn't starve, leading a company into and out of danger, and now...now after all of that, after finally reclaiming Erebor, _still_ he lost more than he could bear. Still there was something missing that pained him at every moment. He would deem it unfair if the feeling hadn't been so familiar, would fight against it if he hadn't become accustomed to its ways, but he did what he had done for all of those years. He left it behind and forced himself on.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - 

 

Azog was in his room.

_Again,_ Thorin vaguely thought to himself, frozen as he was with fear in his own bed.

The damnable creature was there almost every time he woke despite how little he slept. He was standing in the corner this time, staring straight at Thorin with icy pale eyes, taunting him as he bared his rotten teeth. Sometimes he would stay like that, or he would walk over and whisper Black Speech in Thorin’s ear. Sometimes it wasn’t him at all, a vague figure instead flitting in and out of focus. One day Thorin woke to a creature sitting heavy on his chest, bloodied and disfigured as it reached out to him. When he realized how much it had resembled Bilbo he didn’t sleep for close to a week, then when he finally surrendered he was almost relieved to see Azog again. _Anything_ but that small, helpless thing moaning his name, begging for his help-

_Stop._ Thorin gritted his teeth, or at least he did in his mind. _Just focus on Azog. Don’t summon Bil...the other one back._

His eyes still felt as if they were rolling in his head as he tried to look away, still disgusted by the presence of the orc.

“ _Oakenshield._ ”

_Move! Why can’t I move..._

He tried to scream, to wake himself, but no sound came. The orc was beside him now, movements awkward and ungainly as his claw scratched across Thorin’s stomach. If anything Thorin hated the creature more than he feared him, but now he was truly terrified of him. Without being able to move or make a sound Azog had all of the power.

A ripping pain in his chest blinded him, all of his nerves on fire as he became aware of the rusted metal twisting inside of him. Azog’s face was before him, breath filling his nostrils and mouth, making him gag. He was fortunate, at least, that it was enough to finally wake him fully. He was still in his room, but the vision of Azog had vanished. The pain was still there, the taste of acrid breath fresh on Thorin’s tongue. He clutched at his chest and gagged as he sat up though there was nothing to be rid of in his empty stomach. Still he was able to take in some much needed air instead of expelling it once he could finally handle himself, but the pain in his chest from his injury was still relentless. It wasn’t uncommon for it to start hurting again during the night and he knew the pain could be attributed at least in part to his relentless hallucinations. Never would he become used to it, though, no matter how often it happened. To be so powerless upon waking, stranded in his own bed while nightmarish visions played out too vividly…

Quickly he turned and planted his feet on the cold hard ground with a grunt. No. No, he would not go back to sleep. It had been a waste to even attempt it that night. It was still early but he was up and dressed without another thought for staying in his room. Work still needed to be done and his kingdom did not need a king who was overcome by his own dreams, who was frightened of lying down in his own bed.

He made his way down to the forges that morning, inspecting the work of the dwarves who rose even earlier than he. His fingers itched to grab hold of a hammer if only to release some of whatever it was he was feeling, rage or anxiety, but not when others were already hard at work. It had been a while since he made anything and he wasn't keen on embarrassing himself in front of his subjects just because he was frustrated.

So he watched them instead, breathing in the smoke and listening to the sharp clink of the anvils that were so familiar. It helped ground him, reminding him of simpler times where he would gladly partake in his own work with friends and cousins by his side. He remembered his father asking him one day why he took up the particular craft when Frerin focused on his fighting and Dís on mining, but he didn’t have much of an answer. Now he could see why. It was repetitive work and he didn’t have to think on anything other than the steel he was pounding. When he took up commissions in the towns of men he found it to be the same; he could forget about the troubles around him as the fire and metal occupied all of his thoughts.

He walked among the workers for a time, nodding his encouragement and approval when they looked up out of curiosity. It wasn’t often he was able to make his way down, after all. Eventually he came across a familiar face, though he almost didn’t recognize him without the hat.

“Bofur,” he stated, surprised to see his former company member. From what he knew of his past Bofur- now a lord in Erebor’s court due to Kíli’s liberal distribution of titles- had been a rather proficient miner in Ered Luin. On the road he would catch him whittling every now and then, joining his cousin Bifur in their odd toymaking competitions, so he just assumed the dwarf would take up work in the mines if he wished to continue working with his hands.

“Aye.” Bofur put down his work, wiping his brow and smiling at Thorin in greeting. “Morning, Your Majesty. What brings ya down to the forges?”

“I woke early,” the king shrugged. “I am afraid it doesn’t take much these days.” Bofur had a way of making him feel comfortable so he needed to remember to guard himself more against his kind smile. He still was wary of the dwarf’s past relationship with his...with _the_ hobbit, even if he could care less anymore. Well, he told himself he could care less.

“Ya have a hard time sleeping?”

Thorin shrugged, straightening his shoulders and looking down at Bofur’s work.

“When did you start working down here? You do know you are not required to given your position.”

“Ha, well, you know as well as I do that fancy titles never suit me well.” Bofur chuckled but a fond look passed over his face. “Kíli was kind to do that, though. He’s a good lad. Just about made Bombur’s whole life when we went through that ceremony. His wife’s never been more proud...but aye, ya asked about me. I like workin’ with me hands, ya know.”

“But as I recall you were a miner in Ered Luin.”

“I was, but me left hand’s never been the same since that battle. At least makin’ weapons only really requires me to use me dominant one with the hammer. It’s a shame but I don’t mind. We all made sacrifices, some more than others.” He grew quiet at this, bowing his head and seemingly deep in thought over something. “Ya know,” he started after a time, “ya ever get an overwhelming feeling of loneliness sometimes? I mean ever since our quest ended and we all separated it ain’t been the same. I keep tellin’ meself I’ll get used to it but then it’ll come on again.”

Thorin had no desire to answer that, afraid of what he would even say, but Bofur didn’t seem to expect one. Neither spoke too much after that, though, and soon Thorin came up with some excuse to leave the forges. Suddenly he didn’t feel quite as peaceful as he did upon walking in. Bofur was genial in his good byes, telling him to come by more often, and soon Thorin found himself walking quickly through the corridors once again just to leave the place behind.

It wasn’t long before he was rescued from his thoughts on what Bofur had said when Balin came up to him.

“You have a visitor,” his advisor stated.

“Will I like this visitor?” Thorin wondered with a sigh, following him up to the throne room.

“Oh, I doubt it.”

As Thorin took his seat he watched as none other but the elven king strode up to him, head held high as his piercing gaze was aimed only at Thorin. He had to swallow back his rage even as his hands clenched at his sides. No longer was he a prisoner, nor will he ever be again, but his time in the cells of Mirkwood certainly wasn’t something he was likely to forgive or forget any time soon. It had nearly cost him to miss Durin’s Day and he had no doubt he would still be in there if it hadn’t been for...well, if luck hadn’t been on their side.

_“Luck! You know very well who helped you out of that predicament, you foolish dwarf.”_

Thorin shook his head, trying to be rid of his sister’s voice. Ever since she had found out about Bilbo he wouldn’t hear the end of it, having to put up with how foolish she thought he was for banning the hobbit. No matter how true her words were it didn’t make them any less aggravating when she constantly reminded him of how he had done wrong by him.

“King Thorin.”

Thranduil bowed his head to him, to which Thorin responded by standing and inclining his own.

“King Thranduil,” he rumbled. It was the first time they had seen each other after the battle, although plenty of letters were exchanged between them almost as soon as Thorin regained consciousness. There was a sneaking suspicion as to what the king of the Woodland Realm wanted this time, making his skin crawl even before the statement could be made.

"I will not mince words,” Thranduil said. “Your nephew promised gold in exchange for protection should you ever travel through the Woodland Realm again.”

And there it was.

"Why would he promise such a thing?" Thorin scoffed. "We have no use of your woods."

"I agree, I believed he failed to think his barter through and was merely trying to strike a deal at random." Thranduil waved his hand in the air, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. "Yet there was thought behind it and now some of your dwarves fight beside my warriors against the evil that still resides in our land. I have been told you have skilled fighters among you."

"Their orders are to patrol the borders," Thorin growled, “not inside the Wood itself. Why was I not informed after all of this time?” He started to pace in front of his throne. No one had told him of the dwarves fighting alongside _elves_ all all the races, not even Dwalin. "I will speak with my captain and my nephew."

"Your dwarves, as loud and as crass as they are, have rid at least a quarter of the woods of the spiders. That is more than I can say for my own guard who have been at it for years." Thranduil scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "I have fierce fighters but your dwarves have tactics of their own that have been proven effective. Do I need to lower myself any further by paying them more compliments or do you finally see what I am saying?"

"You only say such things so that you may have the gold that was promised to you.”

"Yes, I would like the rest of the share I was promised," he said shortly. "It has been earned. Your nephew did not offer it all up front, but rather in smaller payments."

"He managed to do one thing right," he grumbled, “but his promises are not mine to keep.”

“Curious,” Thranduil hummed, tilting his head. “He would say the same thing when he was on the throne. I did not know the line of Durin was stubborn enough to disregard the wishes of their own kin.”

“Do not speak of my family,” Thorin snapped. He glanced over at Balin who hadn’t spoken a word but whose expression said everything. “You will receive the rest of your gold,” he went on, watching as his advisor nodded, “and you will leave us alone afterward. I will pull my guard out of Mirkwood and the only dealings we will have in the future will be strictly emergency.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a snarl he couldn’t contain. “But do not expect our aid should a _dragon_ land on your doorstep. Your battles are your own.”

Balin let out a low sigh, but Thorin remained firm. Even Thranduil looked surprised at this- or as surprised as he could ever be expected to look- and he almost spoke before Thorin raised his hand and shook his head.

“Fair enough,” the elven king eventually surrendered. “I desired to have your dwarves in our woods until the sickness was driven away, but I can see you are not of the same mind.”

“My mind is with my kingdom. I have little room for anything else these days.” Thorin turned and sat back down on his throne. “If that is all then I will have you escorted to where you will receive the gold and you can be on your way.”

“I admit I am disappointed-”

“I am sure you will overcome it.” Out of the corner of his eye Thorin could see Kíli hesitating to come out from one of the side rooms, a frown on his tired face. “Good day,” he said, glancing over at his nephew. The prince at least had the decency to come out when Thranduil finally left, but it was clear something had him upset. “What is it, _namadinùdoy?_ ”

“Surely having our dwarves in the Woodland Realm isn’t harming anything? Thranduil said-”

“It will be enough to have them guarding the borders. We are weak, Kíli, we cannot just send the ones who guard our kingdom across Middle Earth. Would you have us so vulnerable?”

“Of course not, but we had to establish peace between the kingdoms somehow. What if we needed to travel back through the woods?”

“Why would we ever do such a thing? All of the dwarves from Ered Luin have arrived and there is no practical trade route that would ever take us through Mirkwood.”

Kíli remained silent at the question which only made Thorin more suspicious.

“Perhaps Kíli was thinking of Beorn,” Balin spoke gently, “only I don’t imagine he would have any desire to associate with us anytime soon.”

“Do you take me for a fool, Balin?” Thorin wondered. His advisor startled at that, but Thorin was too disappointed to care. “If Kíli has confided in you as I have done all these years then you know what his intent is.” Neither responded to this at first which only led to more frustration on Thorin’s part. “I want to know!” he suddenly exclaimed, making the both of them jump.

“It’s for Bilbo,” he heard Kíli sputter, staring at him wide-eyed as he shook where he stood. “All right? It’s for him, and Gandalf for that matter. I also truly wanted to help clear out Mirkwood, and to make Thranduil stop annoying us for his supposed share when he aided us in battle, but I was thinking about Bilbo. I won’t apologize,” he added, bowing his head. “It was only wishful thinking after all. There wasn’t any harm in it.”

“There wasn’t any harm,” Thorin repeated, voice starting to quiver with his anger. “There wasn’t any harm in sending our dwarves away to some of their deaths while Erebor only had a few guards to begin with? There was no harm in wishing for the return of a _traitor_ to the line of Durin let alone providing a _path_ for him to do it on?” The king let out a short bark of laughter, making Kíli wince. “Truly you have many years before you even begin to understand your position, _mimel dorniti_.”

“That may be true, but you still can’t do this-”

“I will do what is right by my kingdom and not for some foolish dream of a halfing’s return!”

Kíli’s fists were balled up at his sides, making Thorin wonder for a moment if the prince would actually lash out at him, but a sound off to the side immediately caught his attention. The change in his nephew was almost shocking and first Thorin couldn’t keep up with why his anger suddenly dissolved into a look of complete concern. It was only when he watched him walk over to Fíli that he understood. Kíli must have been walking with him already before he overheard Thorin talking to Thranduil, but now it seemed the older prince was finally making himself known.

“Fíli,” Thorin said steadily. He stood and walked down to his nephew, forcing himself to smile through his own concern as well. Fíli looked pale and exhausted, as he always seemed to be lately, although now there was a frown on his lips not dissimilar to his brother’s.

“Is everything well?” he softly wondered, leaning on Kíli for support.

“Of course, _nadad,_ ” Kíli was quick to reassure him. “I was just leaving, in fact. We should go back to our rooms so you can rest before dinner.”

“Are you sure?”

The look Fíli gave Thorin was enough to drive the king’s anger away, reminding him of a time when the lad was small enough to sit on his knee and look up at him with hundreds of questions swimming in his excited blue eyes. He forced himself back to reality, though, not entirely sure he was capable of dredging up old memories without them causing him to regard Fíli with pity. He would never hear the end of it from Kíli or Balin, and as it was his relationship with all of them seemed to be on thin ice.

“Go get some rest, Fíli,” Thorin said calmly, reaching out to cup the back of his head and give a gentle smile. “Perhaps you will join us tonight for dinner?”

“I was hoping to,” he nodded.

“Good.” He was able to keep his smile until Fíli turned and was led out by his brother, sobered by the way his heavy limp still caused him pain even as Kíli took most of his weight.

_“I do not blame you for his injuries, nadad.”_

Thorin took in a breath and closed his eyes.

“Your Majesty?” came Balin’s voice. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine.”

_“Although why you didn’t tell me remains a mystery.”_

He had gone to visit Fíli one day when he finally had time, curious to see if he was still stirring like Kíli told him. Dís was sitting with him, of course. He would hardly expect her to be anywhere else, but it was something he had been putting off ever since her arrival.

_“I feared you would be angry with me,”_ he responded. The look he received made him squirm, bowing his head until she reached out for him.

_“He lives, still, they both do and that was the promise you made to me. He is strong enough to see his way out. You have done your part.”_

Still he wished it were not so, that Fíli could be his usual self again and stand by his side. It took a weight off of his chest knowing Dís did not blame him, but still he regretted not having his heir with him as he had been throughout the journey. While there was a great deal Thorin would have liked to hear his opinion about, when the lad slept most of the day and struggled with his words whenever he was awake it was unfortunate that Thorin barely had any time to spare him.

_“He won’t be the same.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“With an injury like this you know he won’t be. At least make sure he is happy, Thorin.”_

That was a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. Ensuring the lad’s survival proved manageable, but when he could barely understand the extent of what he had been through and was still struggling with Thorin almost wished he could just go back to shielding him from orcs and wargs. At least they were easy to cut down with a sword.

“Perhaps you should rest as well,” Balin went on.

“I said I’m fine.” He ignored the white-haired dwarf and sat back down on his throne, holding his head high and trying to keep his thoughts contained. He hoped to be able to speak to Fíli more that night if only to put his own mind at rest.

It wasn’t to be, however, when he sat down that evening to a full table that was missing the eldest heir.

“Kíli,” he murmured after a while. They had all tucked into their meal and he was beginning to see that Fíli would not be joining them after all. “Where is your brother?”

“Resting, Uncle.” The lad frowned, his body instantly tense. “Perhaps it’s my fault I encouraged him to take a walk for so long. He was eager to see all the improvements since he’s been bedridden, but we should have taken it easy.” Something flickered in Thorin at the sight of Kíli’s sad smile, stronger than pity and more emotionally connected to his nephew’s unerring loyalty, but the feeling wasn’t allowed to last for too long. He had truly wished to speak to Fíli and now he was disgruntled at not having his company.

“It has been almost three months since he woke,” he went on, somewhat bitter and at least looking to have his youngest nephew answer some of his inquires, “and in that time you have barely left his side. I imagine most of the kingdom is new to you as well.”

Kíli winced, looking down at his plate with a furrowed brow.

“I was able to see some of my ideas acted on when I was regent,” he said, “although yes, I haven’t been out too often since Fíli woke. I don’t have much reason to be and I am one of the few he will allow to help him.”

“But surely you wish to be among your people. Fíli told me once that he greatly desired to do the same, to take his rightful place beside me and perform his duties as Crown Prince. He cannot, as mush as he wishes, but you are capable.”

“I did my part already and quite frankly I’ve had enough responsibility on my shoulders to last me until I am truly ready to take the throne. I’m happy enough to help my One in any way that he needs me.”

“Truly you were not ready to rule-”

“You really don’t need to remind me.”

“-but you cannot allow Fíli to hold you back. He will find his own way, I’m sure, though if he cannot then you very well may have to take his title.”

Thorin wasn’t fond of it, of course. He knew Fíli had been well on his way to becoming the perfect successor, but the prince’s injuries set him back farther than anticipated. With the kingdom in such a delicate state of rebirth there was simply no room for mishap. Already they were behind.

“What are you talking about?” Kíli’s voice cracked but anger flashed in his eyes as he looked straight at Thorin. “He _is_ Crown Prince and he _will_ recover.”

“Kíli, we have to be reasonable,” Thorin sighed. “You know he would only want what is best for Erebor.”

“Have you even talked to him about it? You say he told you he wanted to be beside you, yet you’ve visited him only twice in the time he’s been awake.” Kíli’s hand clenched around the handle of his goblet, knuckles white. “It’s no wonder he’s frustrated when he would rather be helping to rebuild a kingdom he almost died for.”

“I would gladly have him beside me were he not so fragile.”

“But he _isn’t!_ ”

“Quiet,” Thorin warned. Some of the others glanced over at them upon hearing Kíli’s raised voice.

“Is everything well, Your Highness?” Ovek wondered from where he sat next to Kíli. The prince let out a sigh that was quite unmannerly, but before Thorin could say anything the dwarf lord went on. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you were talking about Prince Fíli. How is he fairing?”

“Quite well, thank you,” Kíli mumbled.

“He is slowly improving,” Thorin said more amiably. From what he could remember he never had an issue with Ovek even though Kíli clearly appeared to, yet the way he swayed in his chair told him he’d clearly had a few that night.

“It must be difficult to have a loved one in such a state, especially for you Prince Kíli. Still, there are plenty of others to choose from. Some of Dain’s dwarrowdams are quite the lookers.” Ovek leaned in to nudge Kíli with his elbow but ended up with it in his potatoes. For those who could hear the conversation there were varying degrees of shock, although Thorin caught one elder nodding in agreement. “Think about it. You could have heirs after all!”

“Lord Ovek,” Balin started, but Kíli’s low growl interrupted.

“You are suggesting that I leave my brother, my One who I have pledged myself to just so I could produce _heirs?_ ”

“A-and for you own benefit,” Ovek stammered, eyes wide, “b-but-”

“No, I know what you and the others truly think. I wonder, Uncle,” at this Kíli turned to Thorin who narrowed his eyes, “what do you have to say about such a thing?”

“I have supported your relationship with your brother for years.”

“But?”

Thorin sighed and closed his eyes, praying to Mahal that his nephew would see reason and put his childish ways behind him.

“But we have to keep our options open.”

He wasn’t expecting the resulting gasp around the table and opened his eyes to see everyone looking at him. Then Kíli slammed his chair back and stood, rocking their end of the table and causing the attention to be drawn to him. He didn’t say anything, only stared at Thorin with an expression almost twisted in pain. He looked as if he wanted to cry and scream at the same time, but it was only when he fled that Thorin’s head cleared and the cold realization of what he’d just said flooded over him.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, standing to follow after Kíli. His heart pounded hard in his chest as he went along, almost to the point where he thought he might lose his breath, but he was able to catch hold of the prince’s arm before he could round another corner.

"Kíli," he said quickly, shaking his head, "forgive me, I-"

"Is that what you truly think?" the prince spat. He turned to Thorin, voice wavering but still filled with anger. "It shouldn't surprise me, not when you don't even know what it means to love your One anymore. I guess I just expected more from the uncle who gave my brother and I his blessing." He scoffed slightly, wiping angrily at his eyes.

"I did not mean to say that. _Namadinùdoy._ " He reached forward with his other hand but Kíli flinched away. Before he could even be filled with anger at his insubordination at that moment regret once again came over him. "I don't...why I say these things, I do not know, but I know of the love you have for your brother." He could see his words were falling on deaf ears, the prince too angered to listen, and truly he didn't know how to right his wrong.

"You don't," Kíli said, "not anymore. You don't know love, and I pity you for that, but you're not about to come between me and Fíli. You won't destroy what we've built like you've done with Bilbo."

"You dare...Kíli!" Rage boiled in him at the mention of Bilbo's name, but Kíli was off running before he could voice it.

"Let him go," he heard from beside him.

"You would excuse his behavior?" he asked, frowning deeply as he turned to Balin. "He acts like a dwarfling."

"His relationship with his One was just disrespected. Any dwarf would act in that way." He scoffed lightly. "Well, any dwarf would raise their ax, king or not, but you're lucky your nephew has a handle on himself."

"I should not have suggested such a thing, but I took back my words." Thorin sat with a grunt, staring moodily out at the empty hall. "There is nothing more I can do."

"There is nothing more you choose to do."

Thorin glared at his advisor for a moment before waving his hand in dismissal.

"Leave me, Balin, if you cannot contribute any useful advice. I will not sit here and be ridiculed."

A moment passed in which Thorin was sure Balin would come up with something wise to say as he always did, but soon his friend gave a slight bow before coldly saying,

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

He watched with narrow eyes as Balin took his leave, not even sparing a backwards glance as he walked back into the dining hall. He was quick to at least try and shake off his shock, though, returning to his own thoughts. He couldn't please them all the time, not with a kingdom to run, and if they insisted on walking away then that wasn't his problem either. He ignored the whispers that spoke of something more to their upset than he was able understand, too angry to allow it make him see reason.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - 

 

If it had at all been possible, Thorin’s lack of sleep worsened over the next few months until he could no longer say with confidence the last time he actually laid his head down on a pillow for more than a few moments. He would lie about it, of course, although he knew Balin at least did not believe him. His advisor was the only one who still took an interest in him anyway. Kíli rarely spoke to him while Fíli was at least somewhat polite in his silence, taken to only acknowledging him when directly spoken to, and the rest of the company had their own work to occupy them. His business was mostly with the elders and letters to Dain who still inquired regularly about Erebor. How quick he was to tire of his cousin nowadays. At first he was indebted to him for coming to their aid during the battle, blind in his ambition to please the lord by constantly updating him, but now it was becoming obvious how Dain still had an interest in the throne. When the accusations came from someone else, that Fíli was incapable of being a proper heir it made Thorin seethe to know he wasn’t ever too far off from agreeing. Even if it became obvious he would not take the throne at least Kíli had years to go before he was properly ready. Dain would be Thorin’s age by then and no one would want a king who had only a handful of years left to live.

The draining days and sleepless nights tried their damndest to creep up on him and drag him down, but he fought to keep going. He still wasn’t completely healed from his chest wound, however, nor would his body ever be the same after such an egregious injury and so it was inevitable that one of the things he feared the most came to fruition one night after he fell asleep at his desk. He woke up frozen once more, looking out at the space in front of him only this time it wasn’t Azog who greeted him.

It was the hobbit, again, staring out at him with dead hazel eyes.

_Bilbo…_

How did he come to be there, lying lifeless on the floor? Had Thorin ordered him to be executed after all? He wouldn’t do such a thing no matter how much he threatened to. Even if Bilbo had come back begging for forgiveness he would have only sent him away, not taken his life...but then _how_ did this happen? He tried to call out to the hobbit, to perhaps see if he still breathed, and to his great surprise the small form actually stirred.

“ _Kurdu,_ ” it breathed raggedly.

There was a small thought in the back of Thorin’s mind that wondered at the hobbit speaking in Khuzdul when he never had before, but it was ignored in part for the disturbing way in which Bilbo had to struggle to his feet in order to face Thorin fully. Still unable to close his eyes, the king was forced to watch and listen as bones cracked and blood dripped while moans of pain sounded throughout his room.

_Don’t come near me._

It did just that, shuffling bare feet across the stone floor.

Thorin wasn’t sure what was worse, seeing the hobbit in such a state or having it come closer and closer until he swore he could smell...dirt or...flowers, of all things? Either way, the sudden onslaught of memories the scent brought made tears come to his eyes. His mind screamed in agony at the painful feeling of something once so comfortable and _his_ being in such agony while he was helpless to do anything about it.

_Just leave,_ he tried demanding. The...hobbit, _Bilbo,_ cocked his head, something else so familiar and characteristic that Thorin could barely breathe.

“Thorin.”

He managed to moan, watching as Bilbo’s hand reached out to touch his forearm. It was surprisingly warm, again bringing him back to a time when that touch had been welcome.

“Thorin,” he heard again, this time more assertive and decidedly not in the hobbit’s voice. He watched as his One faded from sight, only vaguely aware that he still thought of him in that way deep down, before he was replaced by the bottom half of whoever it was standing in front of his desk in reality. “Yer sweatin’, lad, are you okay?”

Thorin blinked hard and looked up to find Dwalin. The warrior was gripping his arm, shaking him slightly with a look of concern on his stern face.

“Fine,” he said, pulling back and running a hand through his hair. He _had_ been sweating and both of his hands were shaking. “You have been away for a while, _bâhel._ ”

“Aye, long enough for your _mubûb_ to come back.”

“These are worse.” Thorin stood up, shaking himself out and cracking his back with a low growl.

“That why you were sleepin’ with yer eyes open?”

“Believe me when I say that isn’t something I picked up from the road,” he mumbled, coming to stand in front of his desk. A shiver passed through him, a remnant of his previous shock, but the tension was beginning to ebb away. “I received all of your reports,” he went on, “yet time must have slipped past me. Is there anything I should know?”

Dwalin regarded him with a suspicious look but backed down after the look of warning he received. “Not much changed since my last report,” he said instead. “The woods grow darker by the day, but our efforts have kept most of it at bay.” That the warrior was clearly disgruntled by this didn’t seem to faze Thorin. Instead he crossed his arms and let out a sigh.

“What was Kíli thinking?” he grumbled, still thinking about the prince’s original pact with Thranduil. “Dealings with elves. I wouldn’t have sent you out to begin with if it wasn’t for him.”

“The lad knew what he was doing even if we weren’t fond of it. We’d of passed through the woods eventually and those damned spiders would’ve only spread to Dale if we let ‘em go.”

“Not only do we protect Dale but Mirkwood as well.” Thorin shook his head. “Do we extend our hand to Rohan next? Gondor?”

“I could look into it if you wish,” Dwalin said stiffly.

“Spare me.” When Thorin looked up he was annoyed to find him shaking his head, but before he could comment Dwalin continued.

“I didn’t come to talk to you about that.”

“Well?” Thorin raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“I spoke to Fíli this afternoon, after I saw the next guard off after lunch. He’s coming along well, isn’t he, all things considered.” There was a slight smile on his face that Thorin couldn’t fully understand.

“He’s walking, surely, but he can hardly hold a blade let alone a knife.”

“Of course not.” Dwalin frowned again. “Nor should any of us expect him to right now. It’s only by the grace of Mahal that he’s even with us.”

“I know this, Dwalin. What did you speak to him about?”

“He wishes to start training again.”

“He said this?” Thorin started pacing as he considered his friend’s words. “He never came to me about it.”

“Aye, he knew the answer he would get.”

“You gave him the same, of course.”

“Not entirely.”

Thorin stopped and frowned.

“Dwalin-”

“Hear me out.”

“He’ll never fight again,” he said lowly. “Don’t fill his head with false hope.”

Dwalin’s eyes narrowed dangerously, taking in a steady breath that Thorin knew meant he was trying to keep a level head.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” he growled. “I thought he was overreacting. Surely his own uncle, the Thorin I’ve known for years wouldn’t give up on him, but ya have.”

“He has other strengths.”

“You know as well as I that he prides himself on his fightin’ and _when_ he takes the throne,” Dwalin gritted, leaving no room for argument, “he needs to be comfortable with his abilities. He won’t ever be the same, but I’ve worked with warriors who’ve overcome worse. He’s willing, Thorin. If you’d talk to him you’d see that.”

“I’ve tried.” Thorin shook his head, starting to pace again. “He’s a closed book to me. I used to be able to understand him, but now he’s quiet and much too careful with his words around me.”

“He struggles with his words, and not just around you.”

“Is that truly part of his affliction?”

“Mahal, are you so unaware of what your own nephew is going through?”

“Of course I know,” Thorin snapped, “I just wasn’t aware of its extent. How could I when he doesn’t speak to me? I have no doubt Kíli tells him everything, especially of my own misjudgments.”

“He mentioned something like that. What did you say?”

“That doesn’t concern you. I misspoke, I acknowledged that, but that Kíli refuses to let it go does not surprise me. That lad has grown into one I no longer recognize, going against me at every turn.”

“Don’t, Thorin,” Dwalin growled, “not in front of me. You know of the regard I hold for the both of them, even if you have none.”

Thorin turned on him so quick that the warrior took in step back.

“You dare suggest such a thing, that I do not care for them as you do?”

“You have a funny way of showing it lately is all.”

“Don’t insult me, Dwalin. You know not how difficult it has become to be their uncle and king. The road, for all of its troubles, made them respect me. Now that we’re behind these walls they may as well be strangers.”

“They lost their mother, Thorin. Surely you have not forgotten what that is like as well?”

The punch that landed square on Dwalin’s jaw, for all of the force Thorin had put behind it, barely made the warrior flinch. “I only came to tell ya that I’m respecting the prince’s wishes,” he went on. He shifted his weight and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Dwalin,” the king huffed. Hoping for some kind of retaliation he was met with only a disappointed look gazing sharply down at him. “I forbid it,” he tried. He itched for a fight, knowing Dwalin would give in eventually. When he still refused to move he spat, “ _Shekâl,_ ” which was still met with no reaction.

“Last I checked Fíli was of age and able to make his own decisions. Only when Óin approves of his health will we start training. I am only informing you of my decision, not asking yer permission.” When Thorin lunged for him again, Dwalin was swift to step to the side. “I will not fight you.”

“You disobey me yet you do not have the decency to fight back!”

“I will not raise a hand to my king.”

“And you friend?”

“Aye.” Now there was a glimmer of sadness in Dwalin’s eyes, something Thorin knew he could not take. He wanted to scream, to beg his forgiveness while at the same time spar with him until it left the both of them beaten and bloodied. It was infuriating. “I have not seen him for a while. That is all I have to say, _emùlhekh._ ”

Thorin watched as he bowed and left without another word, clenching his fists at his sides as he was left standing alone once again, always alone. He wasn’t sure what hurt most, the relentless anger that burned in him every day of his life or the fact that he had fallen even from his best friend’s grace. It was enough to make him want to rage, to run through the kingdom as if he had lost his mind completely just to escape the terrible feeling.

So it was when he finally came to his senses again he found himself almost doing just that, walking at a quick pace throughout Erebor without any destination in mind. It was only until he reached the front gates that he realized he _was_ heading somewhere after all. He faltered, debating whether it would be wise or not given his current state, but the glance of something golden off to his right made him startle. He had been so out of it that he failed to realize he had walked past Fíli and stopped not too far from where he sat. Swallowing hard he walked back to his nephew, concerned to see him by himself.

“Fíli,” he said slowly. The prince looked up at him and smiled softly.

“I was wondering if you noticed me. I couldn’t...well, I tried to call out to you.”

“I didn’t hear your voice.”

Fíli shrugged, looking away as a frown came upon him again, but before Thorin could wonder any further he was taken aback by the lad’s next words,

“Can you take me to mother’s grave?”

Thorin sucked in a breath, for he had been unintentionally heading in that direction. He really had no desire to visit her despite what his subconscious apparently desired, not having been at the gravesite at all since her burial. It was sad blue eyes, however, that made him remember the love he had for his nephew and what helped push back his anger.

“Where is Kíli?” he wondered at first, helping Fíli to stand.

“I told him I wanted to sit here and take in some of the air from outside while he went through his lessons with Balin.”

“That surprises me in many ways.” Thorin was careful as Fíli leaned against him, keeping his arm wrapped firmly around his waist. “I wasn’t aware he was taking his lessons again, nor did I think he would want to leave you for any amount of time.”

“I insisted.” Fíli let out a hiss of pain, startling Thorin into gripping him a bit too tight. “It’s okay, I...keep walking.”

They moved slowly, Thorin wondering how the lad managed to go anywhere at all at that rate, but when he heard him give a ragged breath of relief upon walking outside he silenced his thoughts.

“He won’t worry about you?” Thorin wondered instead, keeping his eyes trained on the ground for anything that would make the lad trip up.

“His lesson is an hour long. Surely we’ll be back by then?”

Thorin bit his tongue and only nodded, slightly quickening their pace. He didn’t need to face Kíli’s disappointment once again along with everything else.

They walked on in silence from that point on with the exception of Fíli’s ragged breathing and Thorin checking to see how he was faring. It seemed to take longer not only because of their pace, but from a certain dread coiled low in Thorin’s stomach. He had never planned to visit his sister’s grave, let alone with one of his nephews. It was simply too much to bear, but how could he have denied Fíli? Something in him pushed him forward. Perhaps it was the thought of Dís’s reaction to him denying her son a visit to her, or maybe it was the thought of what she would think about _him_ never going to see her. It wasn’t her, obviously, and he knew that all too well. It was what prevented him from going in the first place. Why would he want to visit a mound of dirt his beloved sister was buried under? He had never visited Frerin’s grave or his grandfather’s. He knew where they were, of course, having buried them himself among the too many who had fallen during Azanulbizar, and he was careful enough to avoid that area when he was on that side of the Misty Mountains.

If he kept telling himself that this was for Fíli perhaps he could get through it with what little was left of his sanity, but as they approached the gravesite his chest tightened and burned where his injury was. He didn’t expect the gates that greeted them, dark stone with decorative bronze that allowed the onlooker to peer inside. There was even a guard standing post in front of them although he nodded to the both of them and let them through without a word.

“This is really nice,” Fíli commented softly.

Thorin certainly didn’t remember ordering gates to be made, but then he figured it must have been Kíli’s doing once again. He couldn’t disagree with Fíli, though. The gates were simple yet intricate, crafted by dwarven hands that made Thorin proud. The yard itself was very well kempt, the flowers he remembered seeing all those months ago now in full bloom while a few shrubs were planted here and there in ways that were not excessive but rather blended in and helped to improve the glum atmosphere. Whoever tended to the plants certainly picked up a keen eye for landscaping in their time away from the mountain. Thorin couldn’t bring himself to scoff at such a skill, for he certainly wouldn’t know where to start when it came to planting flowers.

When they finally came upon Dís’s plot he didn’t look down upon it at first. Instead he distracted himself by ensuring Fíli was doing all right, that he hadn’t strained himself too much during the walk over, but the lad insisted if he could only sit then he would be fine.

“Will it hurt to stand back up?” Thorin wondered, frowning slightly. Fíli only shrugged and carefully sat down in front of the grave, falling silent as his eyes were drawn to the writing on his mother’s headstone. Thorin sighed, closing his eyes before taking a step closer and finally seeing for himself the words he instructed to be etched in gold and written in Khuzdul.

_Dís, daughter of Thrain, Royal Princess Under the Mountain_

_Beloved daughter, sister, mother, friend_

_2760-2941_

She hadn’t wanted anything else, and he wasn’t inclined to try his hand at a bit of poetry she would have thumped him over the head for anyway. He was satisfied with the way it looked, but it was only when he looked down and caught sight of something so painfully familiar that he could not breathe for a moment. It startled him so fiercely that he had to grip Dís’s headstone in order to maintain his balance as great wracking coughs were wrenched from his throat. As he stood there struggling to get a hold of himself, Fíli’s concerned voice calling out to him, it was difficult to do anything but hold himself upright when the memory came crashing over him and threatened to take his feet out from under him.

_Soft hands grazed over the flower he had stuck behind his ear. He didn’t wish to disgrace the little girl of Lake-town so he wore it as if he always took to adorning his hair with flowers, and there it still was as Bilbo smiled softly up at him. Thorin knew it pleased him by the glittering look in his hazel eyes, but there was no mocking when he removed the flower to put it in the vase, only love. Secretly Thorin had to admit he was relieved to have been forgiven so easily after his previous upset over their means of escape. It wasn’t something he would have readily agreed to in the first place, but Bilbo was so eager and Thorin knew they had no other choice. He had hurt his One with his stubbornness, his ill mood over his soaked clothes and his fear over the lives of those in his company making him spiteful towards him. He knew he had done wrong, yet Bilbo’s response to his uncertainty in that moment reminded him of why he loved the hobbit so much._

_“Well,” Bilbo said, “I think we’ve already established that I already do have you…”_

“Uncle?” Fíli wondered, his voice tight.

“I’m fine,” he gasped. “Just...I’m fine.” He stooped to pick up the blue flower that made him think of such things, watching as it rustled in the slight breeze and marveling at how it was almost as soft as the memory of his One’s- of _Bilbo’s_ touch.

_“You are only fooling yourself,”_ Dís had said to him. She angered him at the time, but now as he was faced with her grave he remembered why she was so dear to him. She was always right, always so perceptive and keen on making sure he and Frerin, and her own sons in turn, were constantly looking at themselves and questioning their own actions.

_“If you ever doubt yourself, there must be a reason for it.”_

The king’s small laugh gave way to a sob and as he opened his eyes to look down upon her once again, a tear slipped down his cheek.

_Forgive me, namadith,_ he thought.

Ever since Dís had heard of Bilbo she tried to make Thorin see reason. She had drawn all the right conclusions without even knowing the hobbit, for there had been some things Kíli could not have known to tell her about. Always Thorin thought she had the ability to see into his mind, had even teased her about it when they were younger, but now after all these years he felt foolish for ever doubting her. He knew better, of course he did. Bilbo was his One despite all they had been through. He was too proud to admit he needed the hobbit beside him, still too angry about his betrayal, but some place inside of him that only Dís seemed to know about cried out for him to do _something_ about it. And now, with the memory of a kind smile and the love that once burned in him upon merely gazing at his One, he wondered if he would ever be able to return to what he once had.

He didn’t express this to Fíli, not yet, though he sat beside him and told him stories of his mother until the air became too cold. He didn’t tell anyone for that matter when they returned to the mountain, but he would speak to Balin soon. There was something he had to do even if he didn’t know how to go about doing it and surely if his advisor wasn’t too upset with him these days he had a fair chance of implementing a reasonable plan. Whether it would be successful caused him no end of anxiety, more sleepless nights bound to be in his future as he debated whether it would be good for him in the end or if he had completely lost his mind, but it was something he knew he had to see through. If he owed it to anyone then surely Dís would rest easy knowing he had finally surrendered to her pleas. Perhaps he could even find the same happiness he remembered from before that seemed to slip farther and farther away with each passing day, hoping it would come back in time before he lost it completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with this one! My semester has been quite demanding, and this chapter has proved to be the most difficult I think I have ever written. I'm a bit annoyed that it has ended up being about twenty pages shorter than my average chapter length, but I hope I made up for that in quality. I guess there's only so much you can write about when someone's mind is in such a way as Thorin's, though I did have an interesting time exploring some of the places an unsettled mind goes. I recently learned about sleep paralysis, for example. I've never experienced such a thing before, so I kind of freaked myself out reading about it so much, haha, and I don't tend to scare easily. It was something I found incredibly interesting, though, and I hope I was able to represent it correctly. If any of you have experience with it and don't mind talking about it, I would love to learn more. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! We'll be going back to Bilbo in the last one, then when this story finishes remember the next installment will be "Not With Haste" and explores Bilbo living in Erebor along with his relationships with Thorin, the princes, and the other dwarves. Before that, though, he has to make his way back to the mountain, so we'll see that in the next chapter. See you then! <3 
> 
> \- - - - - -
> 
> sakhab- look
> 
> emùlhekh- majesty
> 
> shekâl- coward
> 
> namadinùdoy- (roughly) sister-son
> 
> mimel dorniti- little prince
> 
> bâhel- friend
> 
> mubûb- nightmares


	3. Bilbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo returns to the Shire, spending a year of solitude with a broken heart and dreams that haunt him. He doesn't sleep often, puts little weight back on and sits in front of his hearth most of the time staring into the flames. He is letting his grief get the better of him. It is only until Bofur and Bifur show up one autumn day with three other dwarves that he wakes up, overjoyed to see his best friend again, but the dwarves carry news that turns Bilbo's world on its ear once again.
> 
> Thorin Oakenshield is alive, they tell him, and he wants Bilbo back in Erebor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many continued thanks to my beta/sanity: cakelydemise

_“Bilbo...my mizim.”_

_Rocks were digging into his back from where he lay on the forest floor, but he didn’t care. Not when Thorin was surrounding him, inside him, taking up every part of him until he could focus on nothing else but his lover._

_“More,” he heard himself whimper, legs tightening around Thorin’s waist. Teeth latched onto his ear as he felt the dwarf sink in deeper, angling his body up for more. Still it wasn’t enough. “Harder,” he gasped louder. Thorin chuckled._

_“Cheeky hobbit.”_

_Bilbo opened his eyes, too aware of the throbbing_ want _coursing through him, but in that moment he became aware of something else._

_“Thorin?”_

_The king smiled, leaned down to softly kiss his lips, and smiled again._

_“Kurdu.”_

_“You’re alive.”_

_Thorin didn’t respond, instead pushed in even more until Bilbo was left gasping for air that didn’t seem able to fill his lungs. He felt dizzy, unable to focus but still trying to keep his eyes on Thorin. The dwarf started murmuring something in Khuzdul, almost like a chant, and it wasn’t anything Bilbo recognized. The intense amount of pleasure he was feeling, though...oh, it went unrivaled! All of his nerves were alight, singing as his blood ran hot through his body._

_“My hobbit.”_

_Bilbo cried out in response as something inside of him burst both out of pain and pleasure. Stars in his vision replaced Thorin’s face and so he reached up to make sure he was still there._

_He wasn’t, though. Thorin was gone and with this realization Bilbo instantly found himself on his feet. Darkness surrounded him along with bloodcurdling cries both of triumph and despair. He tried calling out for Thorin but found his voice did not work. Instead he tried his best to walk forward, fear driving him to act. What if Thorin was in trouble? What if Bilbo was his only hope?_

I won’t leave you again, _he thought,_ not now that I know you’re alive...

When Bilbo finally woke from his dream that night he found himself staring in the mirror, covered in sweat, with Sting gripped in his hand.

“Not again,” he sighed once he fully came to. He looked down, ashamed to even look at his own reflection any longer, and found his way back to his bed. Placing Sting beneath it where he always kept the sword unsheathed nowadays- he convinced himself he slept better for it- he settled in only to realize he wasn’t just covered in sweat. With another sigh he got up to change the underclothes he slept in, a warm blush crossing his cheeks as he recalled the dream.

_How lovely it was to have Thorin inside of him, kissing him and murmuring in that deep voice of his._

“Keep dreaming, Baggins,” he muttered, making his way out to his kitchen instead. “It’s the only way you’ll ever see him again.”

He wouldn’t sleep any more that night.

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

“I have the chickens you wanted, Mister Bilbo.”

He stared first at Sigil then down at the cage holding two disheveled, clucking hens that seemed all too aware of their fate. He had always done his own killing and defeathering, taking comfort in knowing the way he did it was quick and painless and also out of respect for the animal. If he was going to eat it, then he wanted to put the work into it. Now, though, as he looked into the beady eyes of the smaller one, he couldn’t bring himself to even think of ending their lives. He had killed before, surely, and would kill again without a thought if it meant preserving his own life or the lives of others, but the thought of putting a blade to an innocent’s throat after all he had been through made his stomach churn.

“Er, will you be taking them?”

Bilbo blinked, looking back up and only vaguely processing the strange look he was getting.

“Yes,” he answered quickly, “yes, I...I suppose I have already paid for them after all.”

“If you don’t want them-”

“It’s fine.” Bilbo brought a hand up to his hair, absentmindedly tugging on Bofur’s braid. “Can you just put them in the usual place?”

“Sure thing,” Sigil mumbled, picking up the cage again. “Are you all right? You’ve gone a bit peaky.”

“I’m fine, thank you. Good evening.”

In the coming days there was nothing else for it but to build a sturdier fence in the space next to the oak tree on top of his smial. It would have been an odd place for a chicken coop had other hobbits not done the same, but Bilbo knew there was no harm in using a perfectly serviceable plot of grass even if it so happened to be above where he slept. Once finished and the new inhabitants moved in (he would not name them for fear of becoming too attached) he was satisfied with his decision even if his conscious never gave him much of a choice to begin with. The mutterings of “Mad Baggins” only increased after that, but if he heard then he didn’t care. He even went without meat for a few days, although eventually he traveled to the market to pick up his usual bacon and trout. Until then he was happy with the eggs his hens provided, becoming increasingly fond of their company as well. The only surprises they offered came in the form of the neighborhood rooster- a creature which Bilbo was never terribly fond of for all of his ill-timed crowing throughout the day- somehow sneaking in and out of the coop and resulting in the hens acting quite fierce and protective of their eggs. Luckily, Bilbo knew the signs and soon the smaller hobbits were treated to fluffy golden chicks just in time for Rethe.

Now it was starting to become cold, the hens and their chicks keeping warm inside of the house he had commissioned for them. Bilbo still took to smoking outside until the night became too bitter. Even then he was lost in his thoughts until the numbness in his arms and legs roused him. Then he would travel back inside, set the kettle on and start the fire. He would remain there for the night, perhaps dozing off for an hour or two, but mostly reading a book or staring into the flames.

One night, however, not long after he took his small dinner he was sitting out out on his bench when he heard something other than the birds that were settling in for the night. He paid no mind to the excited chatter, thinking a fauntling was just misbehaving. It was only when he heard the word “dwarves” that he opened his eyes in shock. Cleaning out his ears, he listened again, and sure enough he caught a hobbit lass from far away exclaiming,

“Dwarves, mama! I saw them, I swear!”

“Dwarves,” he muttered, still dazed, “in Hobbiton.” He stood before he knew what he was doing, fumbling with his pipe and managing to burn his hand as he hastily put it out. Did he have food in his pantry? How many could there be…well, there were thirteen last time, and he just had enough in his pantry to feed them all, but what if there were _more?_ Shouldn’t Gandalf have come to warn him about this?!

“Mister Bilbo!” He snapped his head around, jaw dropping as he watched a company of six ponies walk up the path leading to his home. At the front was a dwarf wearing a hat Bilbo would recognize from anywhere.

“Bofur,” he whispered. The last time he had seen the dwarf they had parted ways at Beorn’s house, a moment that still made him tear up as he touched the friendship bead in his hair. Now Bofur was before him again, wearing the same hat and lopsided grin, leading the other dwarves (Bifur as well!) up to Bilbo’s front door. He stood in shock, half of him relieved that he would indeed be able to feed them and the other half trying not to break down at such a familiar sight. When they came to a stop at his gate it was then that he forced himself forward, careful to put one shaking foot in front of the other without tumbling down his steps.

“It is...so very good to see you.”

“Aye, lad, I can’t tell ya how much I missed this part of the world.” As soon as his friend jumped off of his horse, Bilbo gave into the hug he was wrapped up in. “But I missed you most of all.” He tried very hard not to cry, though he didn’t regret the few tears that escaped from his eyes. When Bofur pulled away and smiled down at him, Bilbo couldn’t help but return it.

“It’s been much too long,” he said, to which Bofur nodded solemnly.

“I couldn’t agree more, but you should know-”

Just then Bifur stated something in Khuzdul, frowning as he crowded in to place both hands on Bilbo’s shoulders and scrutinize him.

“Hello, Bifur,” he said uncertainly, grasping his forearms both in greeting and to steady himself. “You look well.” He wasn’t sure what the dwarf said, but he knew how to interpret his expressions. The dwarf looked worried which made him wonder if perhaps something had happened on their journey. “Is everything all right?”

“He says you look thinner than the last time he saw you,” one of the other dwarves answered. Bifur murmured something else but before the dwarf could interpret, Bofur interrupted.

“Right, well, how about we get these horses secure then head inside? It's gettin' a bit nippy out here." Bofur wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders as Bifur backed off, looking down at him questioningly. “If you’ll have us, of course. Wouldn’t want to be inviting ourselves in like last time.”

“Of course,” Bilbo sighed, looking down as he leaned into Bofur. He had a feeling he would have some explaining to do given the current state of his house and his own obvious poor health, but there was nothing for it. He wanted the dwarves in his house even if he only knew two of them. Surely they out of everyone would understand.

He looked back up when he felt a light tug on his braid, finding Bofur smiling down at him again.

"Nice bead ya got there."

"Well, a very dear friend of mine gave it to me," Bilbo said softly. Bofur’s smile turned into a grimace, however, when he pulled his hand back and rubbed it with the other. “Are you all right?”

“Hand’s never been working working since the battle. Pairs up nicely with the limp, eh?” He grinned again, tapping his leg and winking. Bilbo wasn’t amused, though, a frown pulling at his lips. “No worries other than that,” Bofur quickly said. “Nothing more than a few scars. Come on, Bilbo.” He squeezed his shoulder until Bilbo finally conceded with a sigh.

“I just don’t like the thought of you being hurt,” he said, leading his friend into his smial.

“We’re the lucky ones. Some’ve been hurt beyond our help.”

“And some didn’t make it,” Bilbo murmured. He busied himself with taking Bofur’s coat and boots so he didn’t see the strange expression his comment earned.

It was strange having dwarves in his home again, yet somehow it felt normal. He never really had anyone over since his return and so he busied himself with clearing away some of the clutter that accumulated during the few months. Bifur and Bofur seemed cozy enough, though, helping to set up dishes and place food out as if they had lived in Bag End all of their lives. It was the three other dwarves that stood rather awkwardly in the doorway that made Bilbo wary. Well, to him it was awkward despite the way they held themselves. Their chins were up, chests out and shoulders back as they examined his dining room, but he knew better. They had no idea what to do with themselves. It was a feeling he could sympathize with all too well.

"You may have a seat if you wish," he said politely. They certainly had better manners than Thorin's company, at least. The two males were startled by his words, looking at him as if they had forgotten he was there, but the older female finally regarded him with what appeared to be mirth in her dark eyes as she inclined her head.

"Of course, Master Baggins," she spoke, her tone rich and soothing to Bilbo's ears.

He was able to coax their names out of them as they sat waiting for him to dish out their supper. The two males were brothers by the names of Dunmir and Belis, although they hardly looked to be related. Dunmir's beard was long and fiery red while his curly hair fell to his shoulders. He was stout like the rest of them, battle-hardened yet his clear green eyes had a kindness Bilbo felt he could only detect due to his previous association with dwarves. He was no expert on the race, but he certainly knew that some were especially kind of heart no matter how much they prided themselves on their fighting. Belis was different, though he still seemed genial. He was a bit shorter than his brother with curly black hair that reached down to the middle of his back and his beard braided three ways and twisted into one. Both had beads all around their heads, no doubt signifying their lineage and positions, and both appeared to favor the ax.

The female, Bilbo realized, was the first he ever met. There had been no females among the company and from what he understood they were protected among the race due to their scarcity. Still, the one who sat in his kitchen, watching him with curious eyes, went by the name of Rega and rivalled Dwalin with her overall size and muscle mass. Her skin was dark and her straight hair was as black as spilled ink with strands of grey running through it.

_Almost like Thorin's,_ Bilbo couldn't help but think. Her beard was certainly longer than Thorin's, however, and the hobbit admired the amber beads woven into her braids. He was curious to note the sword and shield she left next to the other weapons in his parlor as well, but given their size and how worn they appeared it was clear she was one to stick to her favorite methods of fighting.

Bilbo wasn't entirely sure _when_ he started considering the fighting tactics of those he would call his dinner and supper guests, but if he were to guess he would most likely attribute it to the moment he stepped back into the Shire. Always he was calculating the other hobbits, amazed at how much he was suddenly able to learn from observing the smaller details and, perhaps sadly, how they would have faired on the journey he took. It was perhaps morbid and terribly antisocial but it was a way to pass the time. Better than thinking about what he had _lost_ on the journey.

So there sat three dwarven warriors at his table, once again unknown to him beyond what he could observe. It was a little nerve-wracking, especially since his return to a secluded lifestyle made him feel a bit odd in the presence of those he did not know, but Bifur and Bofur helped him remember his courage as they offered smiles of encouragement while he kept his guests engaged in conversation. They answered his questions about their journey there, giving in to laughter every now and then that let Bilbo know they started to feel more comfortable in his home. It was like old times, he felt, and his heart was glad for it.

“Are you heading to the Blue Mountains, then?” he wondered at one point. It was then that the dwarves became quiet, which he found odd, but the looks they gave each other made him wonder. “Surely you’re passing through?” Dunmir looked as though he was about to say something, but Bofur put a hand on his arm before looking straight at Bilbo.

“I wanted to,” he said, setting down his cup, “for quite some time actually.” He swallowed, then a frown tugged at his lips as if he was thinking very hard about something. It only served to make Bilbo more suspicious.

“Well?” he wondered.

“Laddie,” Bofur said steadily, “we were sent to bring ya back to Erebor. I’m guessing to live there, but that’ll be up to you.”

“T-to Erebor? Why?” Bilbo gaped, trying to figure out who had the authority to order such a thing. Surely Bofur couldn’t just bring in a banished hobbit because they were friends, but who else would want him back?

“Well, that’s the thing.” The dwarf took in a deep breath and let out a sigh while he smiled sadly. “By order of King Thorin, Bilbo, you are allowed back into the kingdom of Erebor.”

Bilbo’s mouth felt instantly dry, his heart racing wildly and his eyes wide.

“Did he…” He swallowed thickly. “Did he say that before he-”

“Thorin is alive, Master Baggins,” Belis spoke, “as are his heirs.”

“Yeah, thanks Belis,” Bofur sighed, shaking his head. “Jus’ let me speak for a mo-”

Bilbo was on his feet, although he wasn’t certain he remembered how he got there. He leaned on the table for support as he tried to focus on Bofur.

“What?” He at least thought the word if it didn’t actually make it out of his mouth, but at that moment he was more focused on what he had just been told. “They’re alive?” He swallowed hard. “All of them?”

“Aye.” Bofur stood, concern in his eyes as he rounded the table. “Are you well?”

“No. Not at all.” Bilbo had to grab hold of the edge of the table to steady himself, trying to force air into his lungs as the edges of his vision grew darker.

_Alive. But how?!_

“Are you sure?” he had to ask. Just to hear the words, to confirm it, to _know_ he wasn’t just making it up.

“They are, lad, I swear on my beard. Don’t faint on me, now.”

“I won’t,” he said firmly, but he relaxed slightly as a hand rubbed between his shoulders. “I’m just…when I left they said…that Thorin had fallen, and the lads...” He shook his head and closed his eyes. “I heard not a word since, but if I learned one lesson from that journey it was that real adventures are nothing like the tales written in books, that kings can be slain and young, innocent princes−” He choked, holding a hand up to his mouth. “Please excuse me. I thought I was finally coming to terms with it.”

“It’s no surprise,” Bofur said gently, “you were close to all three of them.”

“How?” Bilbo felt his lower lips quiver even as he opened his eyes again, his heart still aching horribly. “How, Bofur? Their wounds-”

“I promise to you, Bilbo, I swear on our friendship that they are alive.”

Bilbo allowed himself to be guided back down into his seat, eyes wide as his head swam.

_Alive._

The dwarves were talking to him, but he couldn’t process their words. At one point someone pushed a cup of tea in front of him and he pick it up with one numb, shaking hand.

_They told me they were dead. Carnyc, the elves, Thranduil…and what of Gandalf?_

He felt a lick of anger shoot up inside before he returned to exhaustion. It was all entirely too overwhelming, and as much as he loved Bofur and respected his guests it was far too much to endure their stares and questions. Eventually he was with it enough to notice they had finished their meals. Slowly he got back up and offered a reassuring smile that most likely came across as a grimace as he cleaned up. Again they were kind enough to help him, quiet and efficient while undoubtedly making sure he wouldn’t faint or hurt himself in his distraction.

Eventually, after a smoking session in front of the fire, Bilbo showed the small company to their rooms, happy to see that they were comfortable after their long journey. As for himself, once they were all settled, he took his usual place in front of the fire. With a blanket draped over his shoulders and another hot cup of tea in his hands, this time it wasn’t with sorrow that he stared into the flames. This time he found himself profoundly confused.

How in all of Arda was he to come to terms with this? Thorin, Fíli, Kíli...after such a long period of grief in his life, was he expected to forget the toll it had taken on him and just happily go back to Erebor? Thorin was not only alive but he had _forgiven_ Bilbo. He even risked the lives of his own dwarves to go back and fetch him. Was it a gamble or did Thorin really believe that Bilbo would accept the offer? There was no denying his utter relief, however shocked he was, but he just did not know how to handle it.

He reached forward to stoke the fire, a tear slipping down his cheek. He didn’t even notice he had been crying. Of course, it was all too common for him to do so and any day that passed without it was a remarkable one indeed. What reason was there for it now?

_How can I go back to him?_

Bilbo blinked hard, spilling more tears until he forced himself to stand. He began pacing, still clutching his blanket and tea as he turned the thought over. After all, even if he didn’t believe Thorin had died they still left on very poor terms. Thorin nearly _killed_ him whether he intended to or not, and Bilbo did betray his trust.

“All for nothing,” he murmured. “He _could_ have died and I never would have known he’d forgiven me.”

No, that wouldn’t do. He shook his head and took in a shaky breath. Thorin _did not_ die. Bilbo would do well to keep reminding himself of that lest he greet his guests in the morning with no memory of why they were there to begin with. This was his reality, now, he would…

Bilbo stopped suddenly, eyes wide and hand immediately going to his braid. How could he have-

The sound of porcelain shattering only vaguely processed in the back of his mind and the blanket dropping to the floor saved his feet from the shards as he hurried to sit back down. The crashing realization of what this all meant made him feel slightly dizzy. Thorin wanted Bilbo to come back, had forgiven him, and possibly even wanted him to be his _Consort_ again! Why Bilbo had been so slow to come to that made him speculate just where his head was, but then it was no wonder after the day he just had. If it was true, if Thorin was asking him back with the intention of going through with the ceremony after all this time-

_But what if that is not his intent?_

Bilbo closed his eyes and cursed his conflicting thoughts before footsteps startled him out of them. He was quick to look up, heart racing, but he found he couldn’t process what he was seeing at first. There in the doorway to his living room stood all five dwarves looking in on him with concern. Some were even holding their weapons.

“We heard a crash,” came Bofur’s voice. “‘Scuse me, let me in to see ‘im. Ah.” Bofur came to stand in front of him, looking him over once before glancing down at the ground. “Was only a cup. Goodness, ya scared us, Bilbo." 

“Sorry,” the hobbit mumbled, a bit bewildered. He stood up again, blushing as he sent the others a look of apology before bending to pick up the mess. They only appeared relieved.

“None of that, now,” Bofur said kindly, brushing Bilbo's hands away to do it himself. “You lot go on back. I’ll stay here.”

“You really don’t have to.”

But Bilbo was powerless as his friend insisted, watching as the rest of the dwarves left them while Bofur made quick work of tidying up. He even fixed another cup of tea and found a different blanket to wrap around Bilbo.

“Want to talk about it?" the dwarf asked after a time. Bilbo had snuggled close to him, not realizing how much time passed since he had been physically close to someone. It was comforting. 

“Where would I even begin?”

“Well, we can start with what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Bilbo peeked up at him, raising his eyebrows before letting out a sigh.

“How did all of this come about?”

“What do ya mean?”

“How did...how did Thorin just wake up one day and decide he wanted me back in Erebor?”

“He’s been a bit funny lately,” Bofur frowned. “I’ve only seen him a few times since we’ve been there, working in the forges and all, but I’ve also heard the same from others.”

“He was injured quite badly,” Bilbo said softly. “I would imagine he still suffers from his wounds."

“Without any doubt, but there’s something going on up here,” Bofur tapped his own head, “that’s made him different ever since he woke. The gold sickness isn't as rampant, believe it or not. At least it don't seem to be."

“That’s quite a relief.” Truly, for Bilbo still feared what it had turned Thorin into. “When was he well enough to take the throne?”

“Ah, let’s see, he was only fit to start ruling again about three months in. He was still recovering, of course, but he was able to start making decisions from where he rested. After a while he just insisted on getting up and walking around his kingdom.”

“The stubbornness of dwarves,” Bilbo murmured, shaking his head.

“He was quite determined," Bofur chuckled. "After he made a full recovery there really was no stopping him. He talked of nothing but his kingdom, although I have heard of a certain sorrow that would overcome him when he allowed himself a pause. I myself have never witnessed it, but Balin, Dwalin and the lads, all of whom spend a great deal of time with him, all claim to have seen it. Think that was about you, laddie.” Bilbo shook his head, but Bofur insisted. “What else would cause a king who just reclaimed his now flourishing kingdom such sorrow? He wants you to come back, Bilbo.”

“But I betrayed him. I went behind his back with the Arkenstone and he almost killed me for it.” The breath caught in his throat and he had to ease it out as Bofur rubbed his back. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Perhaps you’re overthinking it? Something happened that made him see sense again and forgive ya. Maybe it’s just as simple as that.”

“I hope so, Bofur, I really do. You have to know how hard this is for me, though.”

“I can only imagine, laddie.”

Bilbo was touched to see tears fill his friend’s eyes even if he felt guilty for being the cause of them, but something was still bothering him.

“Would a note from anyone have been such trouble? Not that I’m angry with you,” he was quick to mention, “but I think I deserved better than to believe for a whole year that my very life-changing adventure with the company was all for nothing.”

“Of course you're right," Bofur nodded, dabbing at his eyes. “I can offer a few excuses if you’d be willing to hear 'em."

“I imagine things were quite busy.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Ya left us thinking that Thorin died. We knew he lived, but just barely, and for weeks after he was in a very fragile state. Terrible chest wound, as you know, and our poor princes were barely clinging to life as well. It was Kíli who woke first, and he was in a right state seeing his brother and uncle like that. He had to take over as regent until Thorin or Fíli were fit to rule. The reconstruction of Erebor took off slowly, much more so than what Thorin would've accomplished, and we had a few near misses, but Kíli worked hard under Balin and soon the foundation for our reclaimed kingdom was built. Mind you, Thorin and Fíli had at least regained consciousness not too long after Kíli, but t’weren’t making any sense whatsoever and were given to fits due to the pain of their injuries. We kept it quiet for a time. Even the elves didn’t know," he scoffed. "Fíli had taken a right nasty blow to the head, and the only one he recognized for a while was Kíli. The only explanation we have for that is the bond those two share although that held Kíli back as well since we both know his top priority has always been his brother, but…well, we all managed.”

“How are the lads now?” Bilbo asked softly, unable to help his sad smile at the very thought of them. The princes were so brave, so very dear to him, and he wished he could have been there to help when they needed it the most.

“They’re gettin’ by. Terribly busy, I’m afraid, although Kíli is to meet us at Beorn’s.”

“Really?” Bilbo brightened instantly, his smile more joyous at the thought of seeing the lad sooner than he thought.

“Aye,” Bofur said more solemnly, “we didn’t think they’d make it, but I believe we were all shown mercy on that day by a much greater force.”

“Whatever it was, I am very much grateful to it to be able to see them again.”

“You would be good to do that, but perhaps you should be thankful to King Thorin as well?” Bilbo faltered, lips pressed together in a thin line. Bofur nodded, as if he expected this reaction, but his bushy eyebrows still rose up to the brim of his hat. “He forgives ya, Bilbo.”

“I was left to believe that for all this time he died with hatred in his heart for me. I am grateful, Bofur, but I do still question all of this. I just don’t understand how you think he has forgiven me if he hasn’t actually said the words.”

“Why else would he take back your banishment?”

“Even so, I know I did wrong, but does he know that he wronged me as well?”

“I’m sure he'll seek your forgiveness too."

Bilbo sighed and bowed his head. There was much to think about and still his earlier realization was creeping back into his thoughts.

"How could I be his Consort after all of this?" he wondered meekly. "Would he even want me to be?"

"That's something ya gotta ask him, lad. One things for certain, though." When Bofur didn't continue Bilbo looked back up. "I'd be proud to have my best friend be the Consort Under the Mountain. Truly."

Bilbo's smile in response, he later realized, was genuine for the first time in months thanks to Bofur's kind words.

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

It did not take Bilbo long to decide what to do. Both his head and his heart were in agreement that he should at least go back to Erebor and see what the kingdom had in store for him. He still loved Thorin too much to give up on him, especially now that he knew he was alive.

Bag End, he decided should he not return, would go to his dear cousins Primula and Drogo along with the rest of his belongings he either wouldn’t miss or were too large to carry. He ended up buying another horse for his luggage, something Bofur was apologetic about.

“You didn’t know I would be coming back,” Bilbo shrugged. “I certainly have gold to spare, anyway.”

There were a few things of his parents that he would sorely miss if he were to go without them for too long. Other than that, along with his clothes and other essentials, he would say good-bye to his old life. Perhaps even for good.

_Thorin is alive,_ he reminded himself. The thought made him a bit breathless every time he had it. _And the lads…_ he shook his head, forcing air into his lungs so he wouldn’t topple over. What was a home without a family, after all? The past year spent in Bag End mostly in front of his fireplace wouldn’t make him long for the comforts of the smial anymore. He wanted to remember it by the happier times from his childhood, not as walls closing in on him with each passing day.

“Ready, lad?”

Bilbo looked up, unaware that he had finished saddling his horse and was just standing there until Bofur came over.

“I think so,” he answered softly. His friend smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.

“You realize we made this same journey about a year ago. Must be a bit strange, eh?”

“It’s even being made for the same reason,” Bilbo mused, smiling when his friend gave him a strange look. “Reclaiming a home, being where you belong...now I know how Thorin felt.” He swallowed, the name still strange on his lips after going for so long without speaking it. Especially in terms of the king being _alive._ “I think I am ready for this journey.” He was granted a chuckle and a clap on the shoulder for his words before they all finally mounted their ponies and set off.

Not much occurred as they left the Shire and passed through Bree. Bofur stayed close to his side for a time, keeping him entertained while they rode in the middle of the group, and during the nights when they made camp he and Bifur were never far from Bilbo’s side. In fact the hobbit was surprised at how easily the other dwarves settled in close when they weren’t on watch. Even Thorin's company spread out somewhat when they eventually went to sleep, but on the first morning he woke up with Dunmir snoring in his face. Bad breath aside, he did feel safer for it despite always having Sting by his side.

In fact, as they traveled on into the wilderness, he was made to feel very much part of the group. Belis would ask him if he had much training with weapons, giving pointers and even going so far as offering lessons when Bilbo said he hadn't. Given how long it took for him to worm his way into the hearts of Thorin’s company it made for quite a pleasant trip when he was almost instantly accepted.

They made straight for the Misty Mountains with no mention of Rivendell, although that was to be expected even though Bilbo was sure Lord Elrond would have welcomed them, but they were about halfway there when he was startled by Rega suddenly slowing down to ride beside him. He was quite taken with the dwarf, not saying much but perhaps observing her more than talking just due to the awe he had for her. She was quiet but amiable, quick witted at times and very protective of the group. Often she would be the first to find a safe place to rest and keep watch well into the night. Bilbo wondered if she even slept sometimes.

“You regard me with much curiosity, Master Baggins,” she said, making him turn in his saddle to look up at her. “I can feel your eyes on the back of my head.”

“I apologize, Mistress Rega,” Bilbo said softly. “I don’t mean to stare, it’s just…”

“Well?”

“I know dwarves are secretive,” he sighed, giving in. At least she would appreciate his honesty. “Your ways are guarded and valued, but I can’t help wonder how you came to join this party. I was always led to believe female dwarves were protected because there are so few and well, quite honestly I don’t think I’m worth the risk.” Bilbo frowned at himself, shaking his head. “I don’t think that came out right.” Though he was startled when Rega started to laugh, a pleasant deep sound that made him smile tentatively.

“The others were right about you,” she said, grinning down at him. “You are an audacious one. If it’s any consolation, I’ve found that I am unable to reproduce."

“Oh. I’m sorry, I-”

“Whatever for?”

“Well, I suppose it is important that females are able to reproduce and I thought, well, I thought I may have brought up something that was painful for you.”

“You assume much, hobbit. Not all females dream of popping out screaming dwarflings.” Bilbo gawked at that, watching as she looked down at him with a raised brow. “I do like the little ones, don’t be mistaken about that. They are important to our race, but I have never felt the desire to be someone’s _amad._ I am quite fond of my work as a guard and have fought bravely alongside my brothers throughout my years.”

“It seems I still have much to learn.”

“You are wise, Master Baggins, you will learn in time. I daresay that now you are a friend of dwarves you will learn much of our ways. That King Thorin himself summoned you is no arbitrary act.”

“You could say we have history.”

“I feel that would be putting it lightly. I have heard a few tales here and there.”

“Well,” Bilbo started, shifting in his saddle, “I admit to staring at you partially because your hair reminds me of his. It’s a bit darker, but I uhm, I haven’t seen in him in quite some time and I found it...well, it’s a welcome sight however much I am grasping at straws.” He chuckled at his own foolishness. “We’ve been through a lot and I thought he had died so it’s quite a lot to take in. I suppose your hair is a comfort for me in some strange way. I’m sorry if that sounds awfully strange.”

Rega didn’t respond at first and when Bilbo peeked up at her, he saw thoughtfulness in her expression.

“I don’t suppose you think that is a compliment,” she finally said, “but I assure you it is. I am honored to provide any kind of comfort for you because I think you are an honorable hobbit. From the tales I’ve heard, I’ve come to realize your journey with our King was not an easy one for you yet you impressed everyone with your skills.”

“Skills,” he chuckled. “I still say it was luck.”

“Be that as it may, I trust King Thorin would say differently even now.” She pursed her lips at this and her brow became heavy. “I come from the Iron Hills. I chose to live in Erebor because I knew her back when she was in her full glory, and I used to know our King when he did not have the name Oakenshield. I respected him then and I would fight for him now, but I admit he is not himself. You know of what I speak.”

“All too well.”

“Yet he found it within himself to summon you back to him, to risk the lives of his dwarves for a hobbit from the West. There can be only one logical explanation for that.” She looked down at him and even though he knew what she was getting at, he was still worried of what she thought of it. “You are his One.”

“Well, yes,” he answered truthfully. Was it possible she disapproved?

“Ah.” Her expression cleared as soon as he admitted it, and much to his relief a smile was on her lips again. “Bofur did not say as much, but I wondered. Something was able to speak to his heart, then, to remind him of the love he has for you.”

Her words very nearly echoed Bofur’s from the previous conversation Bilbo had with him.

“Do you think he truly remembers?” he couldn’t help but wonder for perhaps the hundredth time.

“I think he is starting to.”

How long could Bilbo go on doubting Thorin’s intentions? He was already making the journey back to him, uprooted what was left of his entire life on a yet another whim with the hope of the king being himself again.

_Of him being the Thorin I fell in love with._

They fell into a companionable silence, Bilbo lost in his thoughts while Rega hummed softly to herself. The melody was soothing, like a lullaby, and soon he was roused back to reality. He continued to watch Rega for a time after that, calmed by her sturdy presence and deciding to take solace rather than confusion in the words she spoke to him, but then as she continued to hum another thought occurred to him. It was due in part to the princes never being too far from his mind and talking with Rega made him all the more curious. When she eventually went up to lead the group in place of Bofur, who dropped behind to ride next to Bilbo again, the hobbit couldn’t keep the thought to himself any longer.

“Bofur?”

“Yes, laddie?”

“What about Thorin’s sister?" He remembered the king telling stories about her and of the love he had for both of his siblings. "I’m assuming she was living in the Blue Mountains all this time but did she set out with the other dwarves to return to Erebor?”

“Aye, well, she did.” At this, Bofur removed his hat, making Bilbo instantly tense.

“What happened?”

“She became ill along the way, with other members in that group. It isn’t unheard of for groups traveling from such a distance and in great numbers to lose a few along the way. I’ve seen it happen before.” The dwarf frowned slightly. “I heard about a quarter of the dwarves exiled from Erebor didn’t even make it halfway.”

“So she died along the way.”

“Oh, she made it to Erebor, matter of fact, just in time to say good bye to Kíli and Thorin. Fíli was still in and out of consciousness by then so I don’t know if he remembers, but she was a stubborn one up until the end.”

Bilbo sighed and looked down at his hands, knuckles white from how tightly he gripped the reins.

“It’s not fair," he murmured.

“No, but at least they had a chance to say their good byes. DÍs never would have wanted to see them pass before her, so she must have taken it as a blessing.”

“But now they don’t have their mother.”

“They will always have Thorin.” Bilbo couldn’t help the face he made at that, causing Bofur to laugh. “I see your point, but they respect him.”

“They’re still young, though.”

“Not anymore,” the dwarf smiled sadly. “They’ve changed. I don’t think you’ll find they remained as you remember them. They still get into trouble when they’re together, but Kíli is more solemn and Fíli…well, I’m sure you’ll see.”

“With good reason.” Bilbo’s pony tossed her head, causing him to loosen his grip and rub her neck in apology. “I lost my parents at a young age. I still have uncles, aunts, and cousins, extended family, but it was never the same.”

“Bombur and I never knew ours,” he shrugged, “although Bifur was always a close cousin. We formed friendships that made up for it. All the same to us, really, but I suppose it’s easier if you never knew them. Funny world we live in.”

“Unfair, more like.”

“Ah, I don’t know. Just depends on how you look at it. You could still be in that hole of yours thinking we were all dead, and we _could_ all be dead.”

Bilbo blushed, feeling a bit ashamed of himself. Considering all that happened, and all that could have happened, perhaps he should be a bit more positive about things. The lads could have died from their injuries, his friends could have lost their lives, and Thorin…

He felt as if he couldn’t breathe, but when a hand touched his shoulder once again, he looked up to find the familiar twinkle had returned to his friend’s eyes.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” Bilbo said quietly.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for all the gold in Erebor.”

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

In the time Bilbo spent in the Shire, despite all that he thought he had lost, there remained at least one constant in his life. His ring. As he rode along with the others he kept his hand in his pocket. He had grown attached to it, fond of it and, though he was ashamed to admit it, possessive of the trinket. It was cool to the touch as it always was, yet it was a welcome feeling in the palm of his hand whenever he was feeling particularly anxious. It was a comfort, a necessity, even on the darkest night when nothing else could reach him through the thoughts clouding his mind. It couldn’t fix the problems for they were too grand for a even a magic ring to mend, but it certainly took the edge off. Sometimes he would even put it on before remembering how it took him to places darker than his own mind. No, holding it in his palm or making it dance through his fingers was enough.

One day when they stopped to take shelter from the rain under a copse of trees, he found himself doing just that. It had been stressful riding through the rain, soaking wet with the ponies upset and skittish over the cracks of thunder, but once they were settled he sat with the ring clutched hard against his palm. It was only when he realized how silent the others were that he was eventually brought out of his trance and watched as they peered out into the downpour as if looking for something.

“Er,” he started, standing up next to Bofur. “It’s probably going to be raining for some time now if that’s what you’re all waiting for.”

“Not just waitin’ for that, laddie, we’re expecting Gandalf around these parts.”

“Gandalf?” Bilbo was surprised at first for he hadn’t seen the wizard in quite a while. “You didn’t tell me we were meeting up with him.”

“Aye, he wants to see us safely across the Misty Mountains.”

“So you...wait.” Bilbo frowned, then his mood darkened as realization came over him. “He knew.”

“He knew for some time,” Bofur sighed, looking down at him sadly.

“And he didn’t tell me.”

“I’m not ever sure what that wizard gets up to when he ain’t around. We came across him not too long ago once we crossed over, told him where we were headed and he said he’d like to see ya again but that he could only meet us here. He’s a funny one, that Gandalf…”

As Bofur went on, Bilbo was too wrapped up in his anger to pay much attention to him. Gandalf had _known!_ Perhaps he even knew all along! He mentioned his business east of the Misty Mountains every time he visited Bilbo, so why in all of Arda hadn’t he told him Thorin and the lads still lived? It was no wonder when Gandalf finally arrived that Bilbo had a few words he wanted to say to him.

“Bilbo, my lad,” the wizard sighed, relief in his grey eyes as he dismounted his horse. His expression fell when he studied the hobbit, though, clearly seeing that something was wrong. “You’re looking well. I trust they told you the news?”

“ _They_ were kind enough to, yes,” he snapped, “although I know for a fact that you can make word travel fast whenever you wish.”

“Laddie wait-” Bofur started.

“No!” Bilbo stamped his foot, glaring up at Gandalf even as his heart threatened to break once again. “I want to know why you felt it wasn’t necessary to inform me that my betrothed and the princes still lived when I spent a year thinking they were dead!”

“Bilbo,” Gandalf said calmly, “I only found out for myself a short time ago. In fact, I was rather surprised I wasn’t informed earlier.”

“Nothing personal,” Bofur said, “but we just didn’t want word to spread when we were still vulnerable. We still have enemies, ya know, and with the line of Durin still so fragile we knew we had to keep it in the mountain at least until we knew for certain they’d pull through.”

“But others knew you had reclaimed Erebor,” Bilbo pressed.

“Right, but they weren’t likely to be tellin’ everyone our secrets now were they? Once they were in the mountain that’s where everything stayed.”

“Perhaps we have forgotten how secretive dwarves are,” Gandalf said gently. “It is no wonder since you were part of their world for so long, Bilbo, but remember that even I am not privy to their information until they allow me to be. I am deeply sorry, my lad. If I had known any sooner then surely I would have let you know.”

“Aye, ya can’t blame him.” Bofur clapped a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “It was only when we ran into him on the road we were finally able to tell ‘im.”

“I was seeing to something else at the time,” Gandalf went on, “but I promised to meet them once you were with them.”

“And how did you know I would go with them?” Bilbo sighed, his anger dissipating. Bofur and Gandalf shared a look before the wizard spoke again.

“I hoped you would, for your own sake. That Thorin himself has sent for you shows, I feel, a change for the better in his heart. Without being able to speak to him myself I cannot say where his mind is, but as Bofur has told me he wants you in Erebor because he has forgiven you.”

Bilbo’s heart lurched despite having heard the words before. A part of him just couldn’t believe it, was so suspicious after believing he had died for so long, and yet another was starting to have so much hope that not only was Thorin alive and well but perhaps they could even go back to the way things were before the Arkenstone! He was still scared, still wary, and so very tired of all of these emotions, but he took back his anger at Gandalf, feeling guilty of accusing his friend of doing wrong by him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking back up at the wizard.

“Not at all,” Gandalf rumbled. He offered him a kind smile that was contagious and soon Bilbo couldn’t help but wrap his arms around his friend’s middle. Letting out a shaky sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut and allowed the wizard to run a hand through his hair. “My brave lad. I truly hope this can be the start of mending your broken heart.”

“I think it can be,” he murmured.

Once the rain let up, they set out once more with Gandalf in the lead this time. He seemed more cautious around Bilbo, something the hobbit felt a twinge of regret at, but was still happy to keep them entertained with some of his outlandish stories. He was curiously silent about the business he claimed to tend to in the East and so when they finally reached the foothills of the Misty Mountains, it was then that Bilbo couldn’t contain the questions he had built up ever since he was with the wizard that horrible day at Ravenhill.

“You referred to the army of orcs as a ‘darkness that traveled East,’” Bilbo said bluntly. He was settled in next to Gandalf as the dwarves tended to the ponies for the last time. They had arranged for someone to come by to collect the animals since they wouldn’t risk taking them over the temperamental mountains and so they were to wait until their arrival before beginning the long journey up.

“So I did,” Gandalf murmured around his pipe.

“I won’t argue that it was a dark day,” Bilbo shivered and wrapped his blanket tighter around his shoulders, “but the more I think about it, the more I realize there was more to it than Azog’s vendetta and greed.”

“What makes you think so?”

“He couldn’t have possibly been the one to singlehandedly gather them all together and march them as one towards something he wanted for himself. I saw them on the battlefield. They’re all greedy creatures that are in it for themselves when it comes down to it. Why would they settle for blindly following one?”

“Azog has had influence over them for quite some time, Bilbo, and now his son has taken over that position.”

“So Bolg is still alive,” the hobbit muttered. “If I ever come across him-”

“Pray that you never do. The orcs are weak and scattered, but Bolg is too quick to fix that. You are right in your suspicions, my friend, but I’m afraid I cannot offer you any more information than that.”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows and looked up at Gandalf, anger threatening to rise again. How quick he was to that emotion lately!

“So you mean to tell me there is something bigger out there,” he stated. “Have you at least told Thorin?”

“Thorin is busy with his own problems. His task at the moment is to restore Erebor to the strong kingdom it once was, nothing more.”

“But when there’s a threat right on his doorstep how can you expect him to succeed?”

“The threat is not directed at Erebor anymore than it is directed at the entirety of the East at this point. It is better that Thorin keeps to his own business for now while others above him tend to it."

"And if it suddenly becomes too much for even _them_ to bear?" he snapped. "You're not perfect, Gandalf. Plenty of your plans have gone awry."

"Bilbo!" He didn't shout, but Bilbo recognized the dangerous tone for what it was. It didn't make him any less angry, though. "You would also do well not to worry, or pester me for that matter. You have your own worries. Let me tend to mine."

Bilbo was silent for a time in which Gandalf calmed down somewhat, but only because he was afraid of what he would say next. How his friend could keep yet _another_ piece of information not just from him but from one whose kingdom was still in a delicate condition just served to remind Bilbo how infuriating it was to deal with Gandalf sometimes.

“You always do that,” the hobbit said after a time.

“Hmm?”

“You always get the last say, or you finalize the entire argument whenever you see fit.”

Gandalf raised his big, bushy brows.

“My, you have become quite zealous, Bilbo. One would mistake you for one of my firecrackers!”

Bilbo could feel his cheeks flush and he remained quiet for the rest of the night. It was only when he couldn’t sleep that he came to realize just how hard he had been gripping his ring throughout the entire exchange with Gandalf and up until that moment, enough so that when he inspected his hand he could make out the faint outline of the gold band.

_At least it didn’t burn me this time._

Then again he didn’t give it any reason to, which was still not a comforting thought. Truthfully he was growing weary of the influence it was starting to have over him. It wasn’t long after when they started along the long path leading up and over the Misty Mountains that Bilbo found himself contemplating the matter once again one blessedly comfortable night. Again he sat next to Gandalf for warmth, risking another fire that night as long as the sky was clear, and again he found himself with his ring clenched tight in his hand. There was no reason to feel it was threatened in that moment, so why did he?

“Gandalf,” he bravely decided to say. “I have something to tell you.” The wizard was silent for a time before turning to Bilbo and giving his full attention in a way that made the hobbit think his friend already knew. “I found more than my courage in the goblin tunnels,” he went on, “I found…” He paused, turning the ring over in his pocket before closing his fist around it again. Still cool to the touch, but now he would have to be careful. Now he would tell his secret. “This. I found this.” He was quick to put it down on the ground in front of them, watching it both warily and protectively. Gandalf did not respond at first, nor did he make to pick it up. Instead he gazed down at it as he continued to puff his pipe. “It has helped me tremendously. I believe we wouldn’t have reached the mountain without it.”

“A ring,” the wizard stated.

“Not just any ring.”

“No, I would imagine it is quite special. What does it do, Bilbo?”

The hobbit took in a deep breath and shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He was starting to regret this, but he went on.

“Whenever I wear it I am invisible. It was how I got out of the tunnels, how I escaped the spiders in Mirkwood and freed the company, and-” he winced, looking up at Gandalf, “-it was why you didn’t notice me leaving Ravenhill during the battle.”

“I see,” Gandalf murmured. “Who else knows?”

“They know _of_ it. I don’t think I ever told them what it was.” Bilbo sighed, looking back down at the golden band. “Thorin, Nori...they knew I had something _._ I believe it made Nori act quite irrationally one time. I know I feel protective of it. I found it, it’s...mine.”

“Bilbo.”

Cold fear washed over him and he reached out to take the ring back. Cradling it in his hand for a moment, he let out a slow breath before placing it back in his pocket. He was very aware of the fact that he was acting strange. It was part of the reason he told Gandalf in the first place.

“I just thought you should know,” he mumbled, suddenly embarrassed at his actions.

“My lad.” An arm was draped around his shoulders and he leaned into his friend, frowning deeply. “You were right to share this with me. No one will take it from you and it is, I believe, in very safe hands, however you must not let anyone know of its existence. You say Thorin and Nori know of it.”

“They don’t know it makes me invisible, just that I have _something_ that lets me be.”

“Just do not use it if you do not have to. Heavy magic is attached to that ring. I can sense it, but I dare not touch it. Only one can have possession of it, I feel, and it has chosen you. I beg of you again, as my friend, _do not_ use it until I can learn more about it. Bilbo.” Gandalf leaned back so he could look straight at the hobbit, who suddenly felt very small. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” he said quickly. “I don’t _want_ anyone to know of it.”

“Good. If order has truly been restored to Erebor then we must keep even the smallest thing from influencing the kingdom, whether good or bad. Order must take its natural course for her to thrive once more.”

“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt that.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Gandalf smiled. “Why, you deserve a healthy kingdom to live in as much as the dwarves do. You fought for it, after all.”

“I am very much looking forward to it,” Bilbo sighed wistfully, finally starting to relax once more. He leaned into Gandalf again and thought on it some more, the ring taking its rightful place at the back of his mind. “It was brilliant, Gandalf, when I was there. I can’t wait to see what it looks like now. Have you ever been there?”

They talked for a while after that, the wizard telling Bilbo all of his memories of the times he had been to Erebor as well as other dwarven kingdoms. It seemed he was a good friend to many a dwarf over the years. He mused over it as they crossed the mountains, keeping his mind occupied when the winds and snow whipped around them and he could no longer feel his fingers or toes. He dreamed of kingdoms and caverns filled with the richest ore and dazzling gems. It wasn’t something he was aware of before, but he could at least start to appreciate the value placed in such things. They really were quite beautiful and if they helped a kingdom to flourish then surely there was no harm in respecting their value.

_As long as the respect is a healthy one._

One day they finally reached the end of their descent and although it was to the relief of the entire group, it also meant they would be parting ways with Gandalf.

“I am sorry to have to leave you once again,” Gandalf sighed as he pulled Bilbo aside. He had warned them before that he would be doing so, but regret seemed to weigh heavy on him.

“It’s something I have become used to,” Bilbo smiled sadly. “I understand, though, after what you’ve told me. I just hope you take care of yourself.” Gandalf chuckled before drawing him into a hug. “I mean it, now, and I want you to visit whenever you can.”

“I will, my dear Bilbo, I will.” When he pulled away, Gandalf placed his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders and looked at him kindly. “Remember what we talked about.”

“Of course.”

“That this may be your biggest adventure yet.”

“I...yes.”

“And that if anyone can do this, it is most certainly you.”

“Do you really think so?” Bilbo wondered, a blush creeping up into his cheeks. He still wasn’t sure of his decision and was coming to the conclusion that he would _never_ be sure of it. That didn’t seem to keep him from going forward with it, however.

“Without a shadow of a doubt. I am very proud to call you my friend, Bilbo Baggins, and if you ever find you are in need of my assistance then I assure you I will come.”

“You can guarantee that?”

“Now I can.” Gandalf squeezed his shoulders before finally stepping away. “I promise you, however I have faith that great things are in store for you. Be sure to believe in that as well.”

Although the parting was bittersweet, Bilbo was able to see Gandalf off with more hope in his heart than he thought possible. It was comforting to know despite all they had been through that the he could still find reassurance from his friend’s words. The wizard would always be the reason why he met Thorin, after all, and without him Bilbo would still be living a lonely life in Bag End. At least now he had something to fight for.

They traveled along almost nonstop once they parted ways with Gandalf. Bilbo was silent about why they chose to do so, knowing very well the dangers of the area from the last time they had passed through.

"Did you come across orcs here before?" he asked Rega at one point, quietly. "Only I wouldn't doubt it."

"Yes," she answered, "they seem to keep to this area. Although weak and few in number now there are still enough. They are fierce."

In fact they almost made it to Beorn's until, inevitably it seemed, something caused Bofur to stop. He had been leading the party so Bilbo didn’t have much of a chance to talk to him, but the otherwise genial dwarf seemed on edge and wary of their surroundings. Now Bilbo could see him tense up and didn’t even have to ask before the word was uttered.

“Orcs.”

The dwarves had their weapons drawn and surrounded Bilbo before the hobbit could even blink. He unsheathed Sting and sure enough it glowed a strong blue. The color was strangely nostalgic.

“The wizard just had to leave,” Belis grumbled. Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh.

“He does that.”

Bifur mumbled something as he stood closer to Bilbo, looking around with his brow furrowed.

“We’ll keep moving," Bofur said. “Don’t have much choice, anyway.” He turned to Bilbo and gave a small smile. “We’ll be all right, lad-”

He was cut off by a loud screech and the thundering sound of footsteps moving quickly towards them. It wasn’t long until they were thrown into a skirmish, though Bilbo barely had any time at all to process what was happening before he found himself sticking Sting in the stomach of an orc.

_Chaos everywhere, the clash of metal against metal and cries of pain-_

“No,” he breathed, forcing himself to focus. He was pulled against someone and he lashed out before he realized he was held by Rega’s strong arm.

“Stay with us, Master Baggins,” she said.

Stay. Stay in the moment.

_Don’t remember that battle,_ he scolded himself. _This isn’t anything like that._

Truly it wasn’t. From what he could see there were maybe a dozen orcs surrounding them. It made him angry, though. Instant rage boiled inside of him and he wanted to join in.

“I can fight,” he murmured, still holding up Sting and glaring out at the orcs.

“You have my respect, but we are meant to protect you,” Rega said calmly, leading him more towards the treeline. At least three orcs were cut down by her sword alone with a force so powerful that it made Bilbo wince every time. He wished he had that much strength.

They were able to duck out of the battle until they were spotted by a few on the outskirts. Bilbo was finally let go as Rega met them head on, but for all of his rage he couldn’t get close to any. He was well protected.

_I guess Thorin knew who he was sending after me._

It was a comforting thought, but for all of the grief these orcs put him and Thorin through it made him want to fight all the more for it. He didn’t even have a chance to step forward, though, when he heard a soft thud from behind him and a bloodcurdling shriek as something hit the ground. Quick to turn, he saw an orc writhing on the ground and the youngest prince of Erebor scowling down at it.

"Are you all right, Mister Bilbo?" Kíli asked, kicking the creature hard with the toe of his boot.

A gasp escaped from Bilbo at the shock of such a welcome sight. All of the times he recalled the lad in the past year surely did not do him justice. He was vibrant and _alive_ in front of him, cheeks flushed and dark hair still falling into his eyes. In the quick moment Bilbo was allowed to assess him he noticed his beard was coming in more fully although it was curious when his keen eyes caught hold of the small flecks of grey at his temples. Surely the lad wasn’t old enough to start with that already, but Bilbo should not have been so surprised. He knew stress would do that- he noticed some silver in his own hair and he was only middle-aged!- and there was no doubt Kíli had gone through more than a few trials within the past year. Still, it took everything Bilbo had to hold himself back from throwing his arms around the prince both out of relief and an instant wish to comfort him.

"Kíli," he finally breathed instead. The lad looked up and smiled, genuine at first then faltering as something caught his eye. He shot another arrow but before Bilbo could say another word the prince was off with a shout.

"Beorn!"

Cold fear washed over Bilbo. He knew that tone of voice, what such a shout meant in battle, and when he followed after Kíli he could see his fears confirmed. Beorn had apparently joined the battle at some point but was injured, blood flowing freely from a gash in his side. Still the skinchanger fought with even more ferocity, if it were at all possible, and it took a few moments for Kíli to get to him through all of the orcs the man was throwing about like ragdolls. Bilbo himself cut one down as it tried to grab for Kíli, letting out a snarl as he stabbed Sting into its back. No one would touch the prince while Bilbo trailed behind him.

"Filthy orcs!" Beorn spat, panting heavily as he held his side. He was starting to slow down, stumbling and glaring out at the fight even as Kíli stood in front of him.

"Listen," the prince was saying, "you need to go back. You shouldn't be out with your leg the way it is."

_He was hurt before,_ Bilbo suddenly realized. As he drew closer he could see the raw scrape along his leg, only a few days old and no doubt painful.

"I cannot allow them on my land," Beorn insisted. "You saw Arundel’s injuries, princeling."

"I know," Kíli said, guiding him over to lean against a tree. The sight would have been comical had it not been so serious, a dwarf gently pushing at a large man and tending to him in such a way. "I know you're still upset over them hurting her, but Bofur and the others have almost killed all of them. Remember we counted about twenty in the camp, right? Look, there are only seven left...well, now six."

The dwarves really were cutting them down fast now. The orcs were big, but with the help of Beorn the worst were taken care of while it only took work to keep the smaller ones from running away. Bilbo could sympathize with Beorn, though, especially given his history and that his animals had been injured. He would have gone on a rampage too if he had the benefit of being Beorn's size, not to mention possessed the ability to turn into a very large bear. It was clear the man needed to retreat, though. Bilbo certainly didn’t want to see him injure himself any further and at the rate his wound was bleeding he would need help sooner rather than later.

“We can handle it!” Bofur called out. Bilbo looked over his shoulder and saw his friend gesturing at them with his ax. “Go on, we’ll meet you at the house!”

After much persuasion on Kíli’s part and a gentle plea from Bilbo, Beorn finally gave in and allowed them to lead him back to his house. He grumbled and grunted the whole way, cursing under his breath both in Westron and another peculiar language Bilbo didn’t recognize, but he didn’t express any anger towards them. Instead he appeared to be calming down and once they reached his land he fell silent as he limped along holding his side.

“You fought them before, then?” Bilbo wondered. He walked on one side of the man while Kíli helped him from the other so he was unable to properly see the lad, but there would be plenty of time once they were all settled. He was quite concerned for Beorn’s condition.

“The princeling helped me fight them off when they got into my stables,” Beorn said, “but he wasn’t supposed to come out today.”

“As if I could stay behind,” Kíli scoffed. “I wasn’t about to let you go out and fight them alone while you’re still hurt.”

“I wasn’t alone.”

“I didn’t know that, did I? And you didn’t know you would come across the others either so don’t try and use that argument.”

To say that Bilbo was shocked at their bickering would have been an understatement, but it made him realize that Kíli must have been staying with Beorn for a while waiting for their return. It shouldn’t have surprised him that they were comfortable with each other given how amiable Kíli was and Beorn's loyalty. It only made sense that they would come to care for each other in their own way.

Once Beorn was finally sitting, a scowl on his face, Kíli was quick to turn to Bilbo.

“Do you remember where the well is?”

“I...yes. Should I fetch water?”

“Please,” Kíli smiled sadly.

Bilbo nodded, hurrying back out into the garden. He couldn’t help but notice how some of Beorn’s animals, two dogs and a few sheep, followed to make sure he knew where he was going. Some sheep were in a panic, eyes wide and bleating fearfully, but the dogs had a better handle on themselves. One even had a bucket clenched between its teeth and handed it over once they reached the well.

“Thanks,” Bilbo breathed. “He’ll be all right, you know. He’s tough.” He carefully tied the bucket and lowered it in, all too aware of how his hands trembled.

Truthfully the orc attack had shaken him, but he was more angry than afraid. The fact that they had injured Beorn and his animals unprovoked made him want to charge after them again. Too many had suffered due to their tyranny and Bilbo had enough of it. He would never forgive the harm they brought to the ones he loved.

When he finished collecting the water, Bilbo allowed the animals to follow him back to the house. He warned them to stay out of the way, though, reassuring them that if their help was needed he would let them know. He left them outside with a friendly pat to each of their heads.

“Thank you, Bilbo,” he heard Kíli say. “Put it over the fire for a few?”

“The others haven’t returned yet?”

“No.”

Bilbo made a small noise of worry as he made sure the water warmed without boiling. 

“I should not have left them,” Beorn growled.

“They’ll be here soon, I’m sure of it,” Kíli said. “Now sit still.”

Bilbo smiled despite himself, watching as the skin-changer grumbled while Kíli prepared the linen. He could see the lad had picked up the proper knowledge most healers had when it came to caring for wounds, and it was only confirmed when he finally handed over the water and Kíli started cleaning them.

“When did you become so good at that?” he wondered softly.

“Just something I picked up in the past year.”

“He is very talented,” Beorn said. “Knows how to properly clean and wrap, and to know when to look for infection.” Bilbo would have found Kíli’s blush endearing had the prince not been frowning as he worked.

“It’s not easy,” Bilbo said instead. When he was met with no response he turned and busied himself instead with fixing tea. Despite being back on the road he was, after all, a hobbit and that meant he would do his best to make sure his friends had tea during difficult times.

Beorn accepted his cup with a grunt while Kíli continued to work, managing to sip at it without disrupting the prince.

"You make a good cup," he said after a time. Bilbo looked up from where he was absentmindedly staring at the dirt floor and gave a small smile.

"Thank you. I figured you take it with a lot of honey."

"Still observant, Mister Bilbo," Kíli stated, starting to finish wrapping Beorn's middle.

"Little bunny knows his friends," Beorn said.

Bilbo blushed, pleased that his small attempt could bring comfort to the man. He didn't like seeing the skinchanger in such a way, given how peaceful he actually was outside of fighting orcs and when he was in his bear form. It just wasn't fair that he had to put up with all of this.

In any case Beorn was finally settled while Kíli cleaned up, his large eyes heavy but still alert as his animals crowded in around them. Bilbo was about to shoo them before he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"Let them comfort him," Kíli said softly. Bilbo turned to see the lad looking down at him. "He needs it right now."

"Well," he sighed shakily, "all right. I believe we are overdue for a proper greeting, don't you think?" Kíli’s grin was wide at that and before Bilbo could even move he was quickly wrapped up in a hug.

“Easy, princeling, you’ll topple little bunny over," Beorn chuckled from behind them.

“Small price to pay,” Bilbo murmured, hugging the prince tight, “considering how ever so glad I am to see you alive and well.”

“We didn’t think you would come back,” Kíli said softly. Bilbo was startled, looking up at him without pulling away. “After all it was quite a big adventure for you, then when Uncle banished you−” a darker look came about him at this, “−I figured we would never see you again, that you wouldn’t want anything to do with dwarves.”

“I thought you had died,” Bilbo said softly. “Although you’re somewhat right. Even if I knew you were alive, I wouldn’t have come back, but only due to your uncle’s wishes. Now that he has taken back his earlier words, I very much look forward to returning."

“I am so pleased, and so is Fíli! He would have come, but he's, well..." Kíli faltered.

“I know,” Bilbo said, hugging him again. "My poor lads. How is he?"

"He is better," the prince sighed. "He has his days, ones that frustrate him."

"He is strong, though. I've no doubt you've helped him immensely through it all." Kíli blushed but nodded. "Good lad."

The young dwarf looked as though he were about to say something but thought better for it before smiling. They sat talking for a while, keeping the conversation light as they watched over a dozing Beorn. Bilbo could tell there was something off with Kíli even as they chuckled and shared lighthearted stories. Bofur had been right. The battle changed him, but still there was something else Bilbo couldn't quite put his finger on. Well, he would have all of the time he needed now to figure it out. As it stood, he was simply overjoyed at being reunited with him. He still couldn't believe it even though he sat right beside Kíli, hugged him a couple of times and talked to him almost as if they were still on their journey to Erebor. It was more than he could have ever hoped for back when he lived alone with his grief in the Shire, even if there were prices to pay and orcs to fight off along the way.

Eventually Bofur and the rest of the dwarves showed up at Beorn's, tired and a bit worn but sporting only minor cuts and bruises much to Bilbo's relief.

"Everything all right?" he still ended up asking Bofur as his friend took up a seat beside him. Kíli was insistent that everyone sit while he passed around what looked to be the usual dinner of honeycakes, nuts, and berries. Bifur didn't seem bothered by the meal, though the others were too polite to decline even if their expressions said otherwise.

"We managed to finish 'em all," Bofur nodded. "Ugly bastards came outta nowhere."

"Well, you did manage to warn us first so you knew they were there."

"Only when they were on us. They've gotten better at sneakin' about."

"In any case I'm glad you're all okay."

One of the things Bilbo loved about Bofur was that the dwarf understood him when he needed him to. He was one of the most humorous beings Bilbo had ever come across but he was also able to read those around him like a book. He didn't press Bilbo any further on his concerns even if they all knew the fight wasn't anything compared to what the dwarves were used to. He only offered a nod and a wink before tucking into his meal.

Since night had fallen during the time it took the dwarves to finish off the orcs and travel to Beorn's, it was well into the evening when they finished off their meals and had their usual pipes in front of the fire. Beorn had risen at one point, skulking around the giant house and silently making sure his guests were comfortable. He would pause every now and then to oblige Kíli’s concerns over checking his bandages and mutter his assurances that he felt well enough to walk. Soon enough he gestured towards the palettes they would sleep on, explaining how he moved the two horses that were injured into his guest bedroom for the evening.

"I want to keep them close," he said. "I want to keep all of them away from what is out there, but especially the injured ones."

Bilbo watched as Beorn walked back to the rooms before turning to stare back into the fire.

"I would say I feel bad for him," he started, "but I don't think that's how I feel."

"He's not as lonely as you would think," Kíli responded from beside him. "He tells me he's content here as long as nothing unwanted crosses into his territory. He just really loves his animals."

"What happened the other night?"

"A few orcs wandered in and tried to get at the horses. I guess they didn't know Beorn didn't have just any old horses. They put up a fight before he got there, completely brained one with a hoof. They're all right now, just recuperating. You can go see them if you want. I think you'll recognize them." Bilbo contemplated doing just that, wanting to see that they were indeed all right but feeling anxious over leaving Kíli’s side. “I’ll still be here,” Kíli added softly. The hobbit startled at that before smiling sheepishly.

“Am I really so easy to read?” he wondered.

“I know you worry. Go on, I’ll set up your bedding and all that for when you get back.”

“Thank you, lad.”

As he finally went to see the horses, Bilbo was curious now as to why Kíli thought he would recognize the animals. It only occurred to him once he walked into the room and saw them that he _had_ met them before. He walked up to the grey mare lying on the ground. Her breathing was steady and she looked up at him with big, doleful eyes, but despite her calm he could see where her injury was on her flank. It was covered with a salve that looked as though it needed a good wash and a reapplication due to the hay and dirt that stuck to it.

“Hello. Arundel, right?" he murmured, his question confirmed when she tossed her head. “I didn’t know your name at the time, but now I remember you carried me to Mirkwood.” He heard the tan horse beside them give a soft whiny and felt a soft nose nuzzle at the back of his neck. “And you carried Thorin, I know. He quite liked you even if he didn’t say as much.”

“Cerus told me he liked Oakenshield as well.”

Bilbo was quick to turn as Beorn walked into the room. The man was carrying a big jug of something that smelled quite unpleasant along with a pail of water while a large towel was draped over his shoulder.

“Am I in the way?” he asked.

“I was going to tend to her, but you can help. She trusts you.”

As if in response- or perhaps she _was_ responding- Arundel huffed and nudged at Bilbo’s hand. Smiling sadly, the hobbit blew into his handkerchief before placing it back in his pocket and kneeling so he had better access to her injured flank.

“Her wound needs to be cleaned," Beorn said, setting down the buckets and handing Bilbo the towel. “My own hurts me to kneel and I can’t make her stand.”

“It’s all right,” Bilbo reassured him, carefully washing away the crusted salve on the horse’s skin. “I’ve taken care of such matters before. You know, my mother was a healer.”

“I believe that, for you have always been a gentle hobbit. It brings me great joy that you are here again even though your arrival was not a peaceful one.”

“Well, I’m quite used to that,” he smiled. “In fact I’ve felt something sorely missing every day that passed without something chasing after me.”

"It is not a peaceful life living in these parts.”

“No, I don’t imagine it is.” Bilbo put a soothing hand on Arundel’s neck as he continued to clean her. As he thought quietly to himself, something stood out in his mind that he remembered Beorn saying before. “It isn’t, so who was it that asked you to protect me?”

Beorn didn’t answer at first and Bilbo had to look up after a time to see if he was going to get one at all.

“You remember I said that after all this time?” the man wondered. When Bilbo nodded, he sighed deeply. “Oakenshield.”

_Oh…_

Bilbo was careful not to make any sudden movements despite his surprise, returning to his repetitive movements with the washcloth even as his thoughts screamed at him.

“When did he say such a thing to you?” he instead asked quietly.

“When I put him down he asked if I would look out for you should you pass through my land. I told him I would anyway since I consider you a friend, but it was an honorable promise to make him since it was one of his last wishes. I am happy to keep that promise even now that he lives.”

“I...I can’t thank you enough for that.” Bilbo swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair and catching the hidden messy braid.

“You have thanked me before for carrying him.”

“But now I thank you for putting his heart at ease.” He reached out and placed his hand over Beorn’s much larger one. “It means a lot to me, and it means even more still that you told me this. Somehow he has found it in himself to forgive me, but I still find all of it hard to believe. I just feel like it’s a dream, or a joke.”

“I have come to respect Oakenshield, but if he wrongs you in any way I will not find it easy to hold onto that. You have my protection, but if I need to protect you from him then I will not hesitate.”

“That’s, well, fair enough.” Bilbo let out a shaky breath. “I hope he is better, that I’m not walking into something I would have otherwise done well to leave alone. I have to give him a chance, though. I love him. I still...I still love him.” He nodded once and looked up into the skin-changer’s eyes. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with him, but I won’t sacrifice myself this time. The real Thorin wouldn’t want me to do that, I’m sure of it.”

“No, I would not think that to be so.”

Bilbo finished with Arundel in silence, his thoughts overcoming him until all he could do was numbly follow Beorn’s instructions. If Thorin had asked the man to look after him even then, right before he passed out, then surely he must have been back in his right mind? Had the battle made him see reason or did he suspect he wouldn’t live due to his injury and decided to repent after all that had happened? A part of Bilbo truly hoped that Thorin had finally seen reason and remembered his love for him, but there was no true way of knowing. The only way to go now was forward and already Thorin seemed willing to do just that.

When they finished tending to the horses, Bilbo bid Beorn a good night before going back out to Kíli. He could see that the fire was dying with no one tending to it so he looked around before finding Kíli curled up on his palette with an empty one set up beside him.

"These aren't as uncomfortable as I thought," Bilbo said once he was settled in.

"You never did sleep on them when we were here last," Kíli pointed out. Bilbo stuck out his tongue but couldn't see if the lad was even smiling. He remembered what Bofur said about the lads being different, and now he could start to see why. True to form, however, Kíli spoke before he could even work up the courage to speak his mind.

“I know what you’re thinking,” the lad said, “and I do apologize."

_At least that hasn't changed._

“Whatever for?” Bilbo wondered.

“I am not myself, or rather I _haven’t_ been myself. Not for a while now.”

“My dear lad,” Bilbo sighed, “you were injured quite badly from what I hear, and then you were expected to piece back together an entire kingdom while watching your uncle and brother suffer. That would be difficult for anyone, I’m afraid.”

“Uncle and Fíli would have handled it better.”

“Well, they do have more experience, but your age is hardly your fault. Besides, Erebor is still there isn’t it? You didn’t bring it to ruin,” he chuckled. “I couldn’t say the same of my pantry when you first came to Bag End.” He finally heard Kíli chuckle. “Naughty boy,” Bilbo sighed. “I never could be angry with you.” He felt a hand slip into his and gently squeeze.

“I missed you terribly,” the lad said quietly, his mood sobering again.

“I thought of you and your brother every day,” Bilbo admitted. “Though it pained me, everything reminded me of you.”

“And Uncle? I know you must have been angry at him, but you did love each other.” Bilbo winced. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s quite all right. I did, I still do, love him. He broke my heart, but I know what the Arkenstone would have done to him. He admitted as much to me once, and I just could not let that happen to him. I thought I failed him anyway when he died…well, when I _thought_ he died. I have been living in a sort of limbo, wondering if I did right by him or if my actions didn’t even matter.” Kíli made a sound that broke Bilbo’s heart. “My lad, I am fine now.”

“If we had just sent you a letter−”

“I would not ask that of you if you had so many other things to worry about.”

“But you are just as important!”

“Ssh, my lad."

“You are family,” the prince said weakly.

“Sometimes families are hurt,” Bilbo sighed. “Unfortunately you know that now, but you also learn that there are many ways to heal that hurt. It is when you don’t do anything that the wounds become too deep.” Honestly, had Thorin neglected to pay any attention to the way his nephew was coping with everything? He was going to have some strong words with the King Under the Mountain.

“We’re doing something.”

“Yes, we are, and even if your uncle is a complete dunderhead, I am very thankful he has sent for me.”

“Can you ever forgive him?” Bilbo imagined so, but it was going to take some time. When he told Kíli that, the dwarf nodded. “I haven’t completely forgiven him, but he doesn’t know that. I don’t have the heart to tell him, because I really do love him and he doesn’t need anything else on his mind right now.”

“I think you should tell him eventually, about the hurt you feel because of his actions, even if it is after you find it in yourself to forgive him. That way you still have an honest relationship with him.”

Bilbo knew that dwarves were sometimes not as sensible as hobbits, but damnit if he wasn’t going to instill _some_ wisdom in the dwarf lad. Thorin may be his biological uncle, yet Bilbo still felt a responsibility towards both princes.

"How has Fíli been?" he wondered gently. He wasn't sure if mentioning the golden prince would upset Kíli in any way, and as it was he thought he heard a sniffle in response. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's okay, I just...I haven't been away from him for so long. Even before the battle I've only ever been away for two days with Uncle on a hunting trip Fíli was too sick to go on. Now it's been at least two weeks and I just can't help but wonder how he's getting on without me."

"To my knowledge he is awake, right?"

"He has been for a while now and he's walking fine, but he still has trouble with certain things. I know I shouldn't worry, I just can't help it."

"I think you have every right to." Bilbo shifted so he could put a hand on Kíli’s shoulder. "You will always need each other, now especially after all you've been through, and it makes sense that you feel anxious about leaving him. You took care of him a lot didn't you?" Bilbo could feel more than see his nod of affirmation. "I could tell by the way you take care of Beorn. You would make a good healer." He was surprised to hear Kíli groan but he let it be. Perhaps the lad had been told that before.

"I didn't have a choice, Bilbo, I had to help whenever I could. I couldn't just leave him lie there wondering why I wasn't around. He needed to know someone who loves him was there. I don't know if it actually helped him, but there wasn't any other place I wanted to be other than at his side. Even with a kingdom to run."

"Still, I hear you did a fine job regardless."

"Like you said, it's still standing at least. I know Uncle wasn’t too pleased with some of the decisions I’ve made, but I still stand by them.”

“And that is why you will make a wonderful king one day.”

“Not for a very long time,” Kíli sighed. “I do appreciate it, Bilbo, but I hope I can see Thorin and my brother through their rightful time as kings before I take the throne once again. I still have a lot to learn from them.” Bilbo didn’t respond, unable to talk around the lump that formed in his throat. He thought Kíli had fallen asleep anyway when the lad’s breathing steadied, so he was surprised when he found his arms full of sleepy dwarf and a soft, “I’m glad you’re here, Bilbo,” whispered before falling silent completely. Bilbo had to swallow hard before responding, gathering him close and kissing his soft hair.

“So am I, my lad, more than you can know.”

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

"We're going through Mirkwood?"

They stood in front of the looming forest, new packs on their backs holding fresh supplies from Beorn after he saw them off again. The skinchanger was adamant that they leave after they felt rested, his own injuries be damned.

“You should not stay here for too long,” he insisted. “Those orcs may be gone, but more will take their place in time. The world has changed in these parts. Now even I cannot guarantee your safety.”

After a tearful goodbye on Bilbo and Kíli’s part (although the hobbit was the only one to see the prince’s tears) they set off. Now, even though he should have known better, Bilbo felt a cold dread overcome him as he looked into the diseased forest. It hadn’t changed one bit.

"Don't look so frightened, laddie," Bofur chuckled in response. "It won't be nearly as bad as last time."

"I made a pact with the elves when I was regent," Kíli explained as he walked up beside them. "Although Uncle has pulled back a lot of the support I chose to give them in cleaning up the woods, we still trade with them now and they agreed to let us use the path to bring you back."

"They still like you, laddie."

"I'm not quite sure how I feel about that," Bilbo murmured, causing them all to laugh.

"We may never get over our differences," Kíli chuckled, "but they're really not all that bad." 

"Still, they can have their woods all they like," Dunmir snorted. “I’m certainly not looking forward to going in.”

“We must all stay close," Rega said, keeping her firm stance behind Bilbo. All along the way she had taken to always having his back, something he was very much grateful for. When they finally ventured into the forest he took comfort in having the company surround him once again, but it was knowing that she was behind all of them that put his mind at ease that his friends were very well protected.

If it was at all possible, Mirkwood had grown even more decayed and darker the further they traveled in. Where there was no signs of life before- no birds or other small creatures to be found- and the plants were all but dead, now even the trees were starting to rot. The smell was unbearable without a breeze to carry even some of it away and the stale air was almost choking. Bilbo could feel beads of sweat break out across his forehead, his neck growing slick and dripping down his back. Still he only sipped at his water, knowing better than to use it up at once. There were no friendly streams or helpful friends here to supply them with what they needed. They only had each other and were very much on their own.

The nights were no better, of course. Still it was hot even without a fire but they didn’t dare remove any of their clothing in case they had to move on with haste. Despite their discomfort, though, they still slept close together. Bilbo found himself in the middle once again surrounded by dwarves. Only half of them actually slept, however, if their breathing was anything to go by. He didn’t sleep very well himself, waking up with a start every now and then confused and trying to remember where he was. Almost every time he reached out to find Kíli beside him, still awake and taking his hand.

“Go back to sleep, Bilbo,” the prince would say, “everything is fine.”

It became increasingly obvious that that wasn’t the case the longer they spent in Mirkwood. The things they would come across sent Bilbo on edge. Even Belis expressed disgust at the dead elf they came across, or what was left of the elf anyway.

“That ain’t right,” he choked, making a strange motion with his hand before putting it over his heart. Bilbo wondered if it was a religious gesture.

“This happened a few days ago,” Rega said. She stooped to examine the body and pulled out one of the many arrows littering the expired elf’s chest. Kíli had been looking on as well, a strange expression on his face before Rega identified the arrow.

"Orcs," the prince growled, instantly drawing his bow.

"Master Kíli, remember what your uncle said." All of them looked to Dunmir, who had spoken. The dwarf was frowning even as he had his own hand on his blade.

"They must still be around here,” Kíli insisted. “We can't just let them go!"

"We were charged with guiding Master Baggins safely back to Erebor. We are not to attack unless provoked."

"Look, laddie, I'd like to off 'em as well," Bofur said, "but it isn't our priority right now."

"And when they go on to attack our camp in the middle of the night? What then?"

"Kíli," Bilbo said gently, "they’re right. I can manage to defend myself to a point, but I would only hold you back." He let out a harsh breath, shaking his head. "And I will not see you hurt again. Not on my behalf."

"Bilbo..." Kíli’s expression softened and he lowered his bow, but then a very odd yet still disconcerting sound rang through the forest that made Bilbo’s hair stand on end. It wasn’t the sound of a predator but rather of something suffering.

“That was no orc,” Belis whispered.

“No,” Rega said, “but it could have been its victim.”

Shrieking laughter could be heard from behind them and they were off before Bilbo could even speak again. He was tucked up under Dunmir’s arm, the short lunges of the dwarf jarring and dizzying to the point where he had to close his eyes to keep from being sick. He prayed that they weren’t actually being pursued by anything, but heavy footsteps from behind that could not have possibly belonged to a dwarf told him otherwise.

Dunmir had only been running for a short time before Bilbo’s world was turned sideways and he found himself tumbling through the thick underbrush of the forest. He couldn’t breathe at first, terror and pain from sticks jabbing at him all the while taking over before he could think clearly. Eventually he stopped, curled into a ball yet able to shake himself out of his shock and quickly get up. He didn’t know what to expect as he looked around him, unsheathing Sting to face the orcs or something else horrible that was chasing them down, but he found nothing. Not even Dunmir. He called out to the dwarf quietly at first, then louder when he didn’t receive an answer.

“Oh no,” he breathed. “Bofur? Kíli?” Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath. “Not again. If I get out of here alive I swear to Yavanna I will _never_ return.” He gripped Sting hard before looking down at the faintly glowing blade. “I don’t care if I have to hijack an eagle-”

“You wouldn’t be the first to do so, Master Hobbit.”

The yelp that escaped from Bilbo was quite undignified as he gaped up at the elf maiden standing in front of him.

“Where...who…” He stumbled back, holding up Sting and trying not to appear too startled. It wouldn’t do well to let the elf know he was by himself. He seemed to recognize her the longer they stared at each other, her flaming red hair and green eyes all too familiar before he realized he had walked beside her at one point while following the company as they were marched into Mirkwood. She must have been one of Thranduil's guards.

“Peace,” she said, slowly lowering her knives until she placed them on the ground in front of her.

“Why didn’t I hear you approach?” Bilbo refused to let his guard down for a moment, not entirely convinced that she was weaponless. If he knew anything about warriors, elves and dwarves alike, it was that they had weapons hidden in places meant to take others by surprise.

“It does one well to stay silent and hidden in Mirkwood these days. I admit I saw no trace of you until I came upon you just now. I thought perhaps it was due to the fact that you have been in these woods before.”

“I have, unfortunately, but the stealth is a hobbit thing. We’re very adept at it without even trying.”

The elf cocked her head to one side out of what appeared to be curiosity, but before either could go on Bilbo felt a presence at his back that instantly made the both of them tense. When he felt a sturdy hand on his shoulder and recognized a familiar scent, however, he relaxed considerably.

"Are you well, Master Baggins?" rumbled Rega's question. She did not sound pleased.

"Not a scratch," he answered, finally lowering Sting. "Are the others all right?"

"They should be here any moment. Has this...elf threatened you?"

"I assure you, Master Dwarf-"

"Her name is Rega," Bilbo corrected. The resulting blush on the elf's cheeks rivaled that of her own hair, but she was quick to bow her head in apology.

"Mistress Rega, I am aware of the importance of your party's safe journey through Mirkwood. I have been patrolling this area for a week now in preparation of your arrival."

"Then you will understand our need to make haste."

"Indeed."

"Tauriel?"

Bilbo finally turned and watched as the rest of the dwarves emerged from the trees. Kíli was in the front, his eyes locked on the elf and an unreadable expression on his face while Dunmir immediately reached out to Bilbo.

“My apologies, Master Baggins. Are you well?”

“I am.” Bilbo’s eyes locked on the piece of linen wrapped around his arm. “Are you?”

“It’s nothing,” Dunmir shook his head. “One was right on me. That’s why I tossed you. I’m so sorry-”

“It’s fine, I promise. What were they?”

“Can’t rightly say.”

"Foul things come into these woods daily,” the elf sighed. “I am glad to see you all are well despite what you have encountered, and it is good to see you, Prince Kíli, however short our meeting must be."

"We tracked orcs,” Kíli explained, “before we were attacked that is. You must have encountered them too.”

"I spotted the orcs not too far from here. Their boldness is surprising, yet not entirely unexpected."

"Surely they will not survive long with the spiders still around?" Kíli wondered.

"We've cleared most of the nests in this area." She shook her head. "They have taken it as an invitation, but not for long." At this she took up her knives again and gave a short whistle. "We will clear a path for you, but you must be quick. If you keep to the path at a constant speed you will reach the edge of the forest by nightfall. Once you get there be sure to find somewhere hidden to make your camp. We can protect you from the inside, but they are still found skulking along the borders every now and then."

"Thank you, Tauriel," Kíli said, gesturing to the rest of their company. "For everything."

"Be careful, _mellon._ "

"You as well," Bilbo offered softly. She regarded him once again with a smile before nodding to them both and swiftly running off. "You're friends?" he asked Kíli as they continued on.

"It wasn't often she would come when we made ongoing negotiations with Thranduil," Kíli said as he led them, "but she was much more amiable than the lot of them." The prince smiled. "She's different. I would dare consider her a friend if I weren't so afraid of how she would react to it."

"Well, she just called you her friend."

"What do you mean?"

" _Mellon._ It means friend," he shrugged.

"Really?"

"You'll be the first one, lad," Bofur chimed in. "Don't know whether to congratulate ya or offer sympathies."

"Well," Bilbo huffed, "wouldn't _you_ want to be friends with someone who is willing to protect you? She doesn't have to, you know."

"Aye, all right, there." Bofur held his hands up and chuckled. "Years of mistrust don't go away in a day."

"It does start somewhere, though," Kíli said softly, "and I am glad for it. We can trust her."

It took a while for them to find their way out of the accursed forest, although it made for a much easier trip with the elves on their side. When Bilbo thought back on what all he had to do when the company was taken prisoner it was a wonder his nerves weren’t completely shot.

_Instead I am better off for it,_ he thought. And he was. How else would he have faced countless enemies afterward and lived to not only tell the tale but to go back once again through dangerous lands? He just had to keep reminding himself that he was not the hobbit he once was, like Gandalf pointed out a few times. His life was in danger more often for it, but it also meant he would continue to meet different, courageous people along his way and in all honesty he wouldn’t trade that for the safety of his smial. Not anymore.

They set up camp just inside the border of Mirkwood once they realized they were almost out. It didn’t make for a restful sleep, for despite the promised freedom from the horrible woods it also meant they would be out in the open with little protection. So they slept a few hours and made haste early the next morning and set out to reach Dale as soon as they could, according to Bofur.

“Just like Lake-town,” he snorted as he told Bilbo about the restored city. “Didn’t take long for the men to get it up and running again. Turns out they didn’t lose too many to Smaug’s fire, but they put ol’ Bard in charge once the Master hightailed it outta there.”

“That’s good. How does Thorin get along with him?”

“Oh, he doesn’t. Kíli was much better at dealing with with him than the King ever will be, but they don’t see much of each other anyway. They’ll both send messengers rather than making the trip. Well,” Bofur frowned, “Thorin still shouldn’t be making any long trips anyway, but I don’t see that changing even when he’s his old self again.”

A chill went through Bilbo as he was reminded of Thorin’s injury, wrapping his arms around himself and wondering just how much longer he had to heal. It was really something for a dwarf to heal slowly which was telling of how bad the injury initially was.

“How much is he able to get around?” he wondered quietly.

“He’s gradually made his way throughout most of the kingdom now each day at a time. He pushes himself, but no doubt Balin reminds him how he should take care.” Bilbo smiled at Balin’s name, to which Bofur chuckled. “Yeah, get ready. The lads are anxious to see ya.”

Bilbo couldn’t wait either. He thought of all of the members of the company at random times, whether he came across Ori’s sketches in his travel book he managed to hold onto or even how one of his older neighbors talked in a similar way to Glóin. Nothing would match how unique they were, but it was the small things that brought Bilbo back to his time on the road with them. Now he would see them again, meet their families, and hopefully have more time to get to know them better. It was an exciting thought.

It took them considerably longer to reach Dale without traveling down the river via barrels- a point Bofur and Bifur weren’t too happy about when Bilbo jokingly brought it up- but they made it without coming across any orcs.

“They know better right now,” Dunmir said the night they were finally in their room at one of the inns. “Men and dwarves in these parts have seen better days, but we outnumber the orcs right now.”

“Not for much longer,” Kíli murmured.

Bilbo looked up at this from where he was rearranging his bed. He would be sharing it with the lad since the room didn’t have enough beds for all of them, but he certainly didn’t mind. He was just happy to have a bed again.

“What do you mean?” he wondered.

“They may be more careful, but they still crop up every now and then.” Kíli’s expression darkened as he lit his pipe, taking a seat in front of the fireplace. “Some of Dwalin’s troops patrol the border and some never return.”

“That’s just the nature of the job, Your Highness,” Belis said, but Kíli shook his head.

“He told me they report never having seen them coming so he went out himself a few times to see if they just needed better training. Almost lost an arm for it in the end. The fact is that they _are_ becoming more difficult to track. Something is training them faster than we know.”

“Bolg is still out there,” Bilbo said, “but Gandalf hinted at something else.” They all looked at him at this and immediately he knew he shouldn’t have said anything. That was exactly why he was angry at Gandalf for not informing them about it! “That’s all I know,” he added quickly.

“He didn’t share anything else with ya?” Bofur asked.

“I promise if he did then you would be the first to know. He seemed certain that he could handle whatever it is, or at least right now he can before it gets worse.”

“Meanwhile we’re sittin’ ducks,” Belis snorted, to which the others agreed.

Bilbo hung his head, keeping quiet as the others busied themselves with grumbling and preparing for bed. He knew he shouldn’t feel guilty, but he really did wish he could have pried more information out of Gandalf. It really wasn’t right of the wizard to leave them in the dark even if he felt it was for the better. There was nothing to be done for it, though.

“Come sit with me, Bilbo.”

Bilbo looked back up and saw Kíli smiling at him from across the room. He made his way over and gave into the lad’s hug with a sigh, settling beside him and taking out his own pipe.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“You’ve done nothing wrong.” Kíli offered him a light and Bilbo was almost instantly comforted by the taste of the weed. “It troubles me that Gandalf is keeping secrets, but then that is nothing new, is it?”

“I just want everyone to be safe.”

“You and me both,” Kíli sighed. “I understand Uncle’s hatred of orcs now.”

“Can’t say I’m too fond of them myself,” the hobbit murmured around his pipe.

“No, but I didn’t understand why he was angry at us for joking with you about them. I thought I did, that anyone who was decent would hate orcs, but it became personal when Uncle and Fíli almost died. It’s like this _fire_ burning inside me that just wants to lash out every time I even hear about them.”

“Rightly so.” Bilbo glanced up at him. “I feel the same way. I have never been so quick to anger before, but I think feeling so out of control of everything makes us angry about being helpless.”

“That makes sense. Doesn’t make it any better, though.”

“No,” the hobbit agreed, leaning into the prince again. “No it doesn’t.”

They smoked what was left in their bowls in silence then, when Kíli was starting to nod off, made themselves comfortable in the soft bed. Bilbo found himself staring out the window as Kíli curled up behind him. The way their room faced would afford him a view of the Lonely Mountain come morning. They would set out after breakfast, then onwards to Erebor. The thought put butterflies in his stomach and quickened his heartbeat. He wouldn’t sleep much that night, whether out of fear or anticipation, but there was no going back now. He made his decision and the next day would bring him face to face with something he both feared and wanted more than anything in all of Arda.

Tomorrow he would be reunited with his friends, with Fíli, and his new home.

Tomorrow he would see Thorin again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many apologies for being late with this one. I had some writer's block along with getting used to working my summer job again, but excuses aside I'm very happy that I finally finished this chapter! I hope you enjoyed Slow and Steady. Remember the next installment, Not With Haste, is up next and will follow Bilbo's return to Erebor. Finally some more Bilbo/Thorin interactions, which is my favorite thing to write! So keep an eye out for it, subscribe to me and the Thunder on the Mountain series, and as always check me out on Tumblr for the latest updates. See you in the next one!

**Author's Note:**

> Man, you guys, I feel so mean. I swear if I ever write another story I’m never killing Dis (or anyone) off again. I had this in mind from the beginning, though, before I even realized how awesome she has become in this fandom. If she were to live then we all know she would just whip Thorin back into shape, but I really want Bilbo to kind of pick up where she left off. I thought of just mentioning that she died on the journey from Ered Luin to avoid more angst, but then I realized how big of an injustice that would be to her character. She’s very important, especially to this story. I’ve thought a lot about this, going back and forth between having her live and having her die, but I think (I hope) you’re going to like what you see her do in the next chapter. It will be Thorin’s POV and even though it picks up where this chapter left off, there will be certain flashbacks between Thorin and Dis. She has a big influence over how he continues to develop and influences one of his major decisions. I didn’t really expect to write this, thinking I would just go straight to Bilbo and his journey back to Erebor, but I wanted to play around with different POVs just to establish some of what is going on and what Bilbo will eventually come back to. Plus I love the Durins, so it was a bit of self-indulgence as well ;P 
> 
> My further apologies for making this one another sad one. I even had a few tears writing it, haha, but I hope it wasn't all that bad. Again, happier times will come. I promise. No really...I swear!


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